Prongs Rides Again
by BrieflyDel
Summary: Come on, you know you want it to be true... A case for James being alive. No! seriously! There's a real story here!! *01.12.02 -- COMPLETE!*
1. "...why you are alive!"

> He was thinking about his father and about his father's three oldest friends... Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs... Had all four of them been on the grounds tonight? Wormtail had reappeared this evening when everyone had thought he was dead... Was it so impossible his father had done the same? 
> 
> __
> 
> Harry Potter & The Prisoner of Azkaban

I.

"I've got it!" James crowed as he crawled through the portrait hole into Gryffindor common room. He was holding a dusty and impossibly thick book aloft, which made him overbalance and topple inside. 

"Ever-graceful, Mr. Potter," Sirius grinned. "Training to be a ballerina, then?" Peter laughed, but Remus was too intent upon the discovered information to make fun of James. 

"What's it say?" he asked, his eyes afire. "What did you find out?" 

The common room was empty -- it was late evening during the Christmas holiday of their first year, and most of the rest of the school was at home. James hefted the book over to the table they were gathered around, flopped it impressively before them, and opened a page which he had marked with a scrap of parchment. He pushed his too-large glasses up his nose and pointed authoritatively to a passage. 

"The Animagus transformation," he announced; "the answer to all your problems, Remus!" 

Remus screwed up his face. "What?" 

"Werewolves aren't dangerous to other animals, Professor McKinnon said it so himself!" James said excitedly. "So, if we were to make ourselves _animals,_ we could keep you company on the full moon and you wouldn't be able to, well... hurt us!" 

Sirius's attention was immediately on James. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "I want to be a dragon! How cool would that be?" He eyed Remus hungrily. "And if you get too rowdy -- snap snap! it's _Lupe brulé_ for breakfast!" Remus raised his eyebrows and pushed him off his chair. 

"Can we choose what we get to be?" Peter asked, also caught up in the idea. 

James frowned. "It doesn't look like it." He leaned over the text and read. "'The Animagus transformation is only to be attempted by witches and wizards of the highest skill. It demands excellence in Charms, Potions, and especially Transfiguration.' Er, well, that seemed rather obvious, didn't it?" He cleared his throat and continued. "'Abstractly, the process involves the summoning of your most elemental nature to the surface, and developing the control to push it to the surface at will. This self-essence, when called upon, will abandon the body for the barest of instants, and force the body to assume the appropriate shape before re-entry.'" James gulped, and looked up. 

Peter was blanching. "I... I don't know about this, guys," he protested weakly. "Are you sure there isn't some... you know, some other way we could--" 

But Sirius had a mad gleam in his eye. "Do we not get top marks in all our classes?" he challenged. "Do we not demonstrate precocious magical ability? Are we not on the track to being great wizards?" 

"Er, Sirius, let's not--" 

"Quiet Peter!" He turned his gaze to James, whose eyes were also beginning to acquire that devious glint. "Are we not up to this?" 

"Look, Sirius, I don't want you trying anything that dangerous on my account--" 

Sirius shushed him by holding up a hand. He and James exchanged looks for a moment, and then he leaned back in this chair, beaming triumphantly. "I thought so." Peter looked doubtful, but he didn't say anything. Remus was regarding Sirius and James with a strange mixture of emotion. 

"You... you mean you'd really do that for me?" 

Sirius pounded him on the back. "The chance to be furry and have a _tail?_ Do I _need _an excuse?" But there was genuine friendship in the gesture, and James wholeheartedly felt it too. The remainder of that first year was spent scrounging about in the Restricted area of the Library for information about Animagi. And it was in their second year that they arrogantly commenced preparations. 

II. 

Admiring one's son is hardly a wearisome task, but James Potter found himself wishing he could be doing something else. Not that spending time with Lily and Harry was torture, not by a long shot! But having Sirius around would have alleviated some of the restlessness, would have made him loosen up. They had a Fidelius Charm protecting them. There was little to worry about. 

The three Potters were lounging in the sitting room for what seemed the thousandth time that week. Lily was bouncing Harry, letting him "stand" on her knees and watching him shriek with laughter. A rare smile crossed her lately-somber face. 

"I dread to think what your son will do when he's old enough to handle a broom," she commented wryly. 

James stopped staring out the window and lifted his chin from his hand. "What makes you say that?" he asked, an injured expression on his face. 

Lily shrugged. "I'm sure you have an idea. He's wreaking havoc on his nursery and he can't even walk yet. Do you know, just yesterday I found him nearly making a dent in our walls, throwing things at them." 

"My little Marauder," James smiled. "Maybe one day you'll be a Chaser like your dear old dad." 

"I rather think he's more cut out for Beater," Lily replied. "He's a tough little squirt. He can certainly whack his food off the table with spirit." 

"And to think, Sirius wanted you to be named Bambi," he chuckled. 

A sudden coldness ripped its way through the air. The walls of the house shook for an instant. The Potters clung to the furniture, frozen. Then there was stillness, and silence. Lily's face drained. 

"The Fidelius," she breathed. "The charm is down. The protections are gone. Peter--" James felt his body grow numb and leaden, and his stomach shriveled, leaving a throbbing void. They stared at each other. 

And then a loud noise in their front yard shattered the air. 

James leapt up and whipped out his wand. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him!" Lily was also on her feet, clutching Harry to her shoulder. Her green eyes were wide with terror. James grabbed her arm. "Go! Run! I'll hold him off--" 

Inside the house, someone laughed: a shrill, high-pitched cackle that boded evil. 

Lily kissed him, very hurriedly and very forcefully, and dashed through the door at the back of the room. James wheeled around and tore through the hall. 

Voldemort was waiting for him, right inside the front door. A thin, malicious smile flickered across his serpentine face when he saw James. "Potter," he hissed. "How very nice to finally meet you at last." 

"I'm sure the same goes for me," James replied, with more cheek and courage than he actually felt. 

Voldemort smiled again, a chill smile, and he drew his wand. "Shall we do this the proper way, or shall I just kill you right here? I have greater targets in mind for tonight than you, James, and you know you cannot stop me." 

James replied with the Reductor Curse. He was barely paying attention to the fight: he could not banish the frantic thoughts racing around his head. _Lily, please, please, be running, be running with Harry, get yourself out of here!_

The duel seemed to last forever: the whole world was crawling along in slow motion. _And the house came tumbling down... _The battle was leaving the front hall full of rubble, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered, so long as Lily and Harry were getting away...James threw a hex at Voldemort, and the brief lull afterward startled him. He squinted through the dust. Voldemort had a thoughtful, amused expression on his face. "Jelly legs, James? How... ingenious." He clucked his tongue, and continued in a soft voice, "I still marvel that you were foolish enough to think that your progeny would ever escape me..." 

James narrowed his eyes and flung his wand upward. _"Expelliarmus!"_ he cried, more as a diversion than anything. _As if that would work against him..._

The wand was barely three feet from Voldemort when it was sucked back through the air toward him again. The cruel grin had left the other wizard's face. "I am not in the mood for games, Potter. I think you are more trouble than you're worth..." 

And James watched Voldemort raise his wand almost in slow motion, knowing what was inescapably coming. 

_Avada Kedavra. You're going to die, James Potter. Avada Kedavra!_

For some reason, instead of his life flashing before his eyes, Mad-Eye Moody's words about the Killing Curse came back. _Can't block it. Can't dodge it. Just have to hope that you die of a heart attack before it hits you._

And then, from further back... the words of an eighteenth-century Transfiguration text... _This self-essence, when called upon, will abandon the body for the barest of instants..._

James steeled himself. _If I can just time it right, then maybe, maybe..._

Voldemort's wand was at shoulder height. His red snake eyes were narrowing. 

_The barest of instants..._

_Avada--_

"_Transfiguro me!" _he whispered desperately. He could already hear the curse swooping toward him, half-completed. 

_Ke-_

He felt something intangible pulling away from himself. 

_Da-_

_Go! **Go! **_He pushed, keeping the stag outside. He could feel the drain-- 

_Vra!_

A burst of green light filled his vision, and James Potter knew no more.   
  
  


III. 

The stag could feel itself drifting, could feel its body float without control through walls, through clouds, through trees. Reverberations of something huge, something powerful kept shocking through him, and he barely knew how he had the strength to keep himself from dissipating entirely. The stag had no idea how long he traveled, for he was blind to the changes of day and night, and numb to the corresponding changes of temperature. He could feel less than nothing, just _senses,_ just the vague sensation of being held together by sheer willpower, willpower that belonged not to him but some other... 

He was able to tell when he'd stopped moving, though. At that point, he seemed to solidify: all the vaporous parts he knew were _him_ pulled somehow into a central location. He still could not see, and he could not smell nor taste nor touch nor hear, but the difference was he _felt_ something. It came in washes, a fluctuating magnetic pull that waxed and waned in pulses. 

He did not know how long he lay, soaking up the influence of the pulse. He began to detect things in it after a while. Not exactly a voice, but an affirmation: _this is strength._

_Strength. _That was all he was able to discern for what seemed an impossibly long time. He could feel whatever was in these pulses pulling him together. They would penetrate to what seemed like his center, and stay there for a beat. While within him, the force would draw stray elements of the stag closer to itself, and bind them together. 

It was a slow process, much like the formation of a stalactite. But the stag was helpless to do anything about it, to either hasten or halt its work. 

The first improvement was the recovery of his sight. It wasn't sight such as he had understood it before, but he now found an understanding of where he was. 

Two great oak trees rose up on either side of him. They seemed to grow from a single trunk, and he was settled in the branch. A dense, primeval forest spread out around him, with an unnatural sunlight streaming through gaps in the foliage. The trees were all ancient, and were exuding small pulses of their own. Had he been able to hear, he would have found the forest absolutely silent. No birds nor animals lived within miles of the area, and no humans had tread the ground for centuries. 

After a time of being able to see, and of studying the forest while the pulses did their work, he began to notice changes. He saw that the foliage became barer and less dense. And the underbrush became less distinct, and muted, and finally the ground seemed to have risen, and only the trunks of the trees were visible. Four times he saw the ground like this, and each time the blanket receded, revealing the ground once again. 

When the sun came streaming down on the oaks' roots again, the stag found himself understanding a new affirmation in the tides of pulses. 

_This is strength._

_Follow it._

The stag felt he understood, but he did not know how he would obey. The trees grew naked again, and their leaves disappeared. The stag heard the affirmation again. But this time, it was clearer, stronger. The individual pulses of the trees were silent, and the greater voice came through. 

_This is strength._

_Find the source. It will heal you._

And then the pull beckoned, the pull which had called all of his vaporous body together and bound it. 

_Follow._

And, like a newborn fawn, on weak, unsteady legs, the stag stood up. 

A pulse washed over him, and as it drew away, it pulled him with it. 

_Follow. It will give you strength._

_Follow._

And so the stag did. 

* * * 

The source of the pulse lay far away from the twin oaks which had harbored the stag for so long. But he doggedly pursued it, feeling the weakness and insubstantiality ebb away as the energy washed through him with every laborious step. 

The winter -- for that was what it was, when the ground became indistinct and uniform -- passed twice. He had not stopped walking since standing up. When the second winter ended, he could feel now not a throb, but a steady and overwhelming hum enveloping him as he traveled. It vibrated through his ghostly body, which now had the faintest hint of translucency to it, and the stag felt like he might burst. 

And finally he reached the source. The late-summer sun was powerful enough that the stag was perceiving his first hint of color -- a pale, pale green, barely green enough to distinguish it from white. He had forgotten what color was, and the sure sign of health made him push ever harder. The hum of energy was so great he once slowed his walk, but that only made the pounding heavier, and so he resumed his trek at once. 

He reached a line of trees, and the vibrations were all-consuming. He was nearly blinded by their force. But, however blindly, he pushed himself through, and suddenly the sensation stopped. The stag paused, and looked up. 

He was in a small clearing, at the far end of which was a spring. Beside the spring was a large, flat rock, raised slightly above the ground. A surreal light filled the glen. The stag was aware of the colors all at once: they assaulted his eye, and never was he more glad of such an attack. 

He stood marveling for some time. His journey was at an end, he knew it. Then, as the moon rose, the pulses hit him again, though gently. He did not resist them. They drew him to the rock, and upon it he lowered himself. Nothing happened until dawn. A rush of energy surged through him, and a new voice spoke to him. 

"Ah! Now what might you be, stag? For it has certainly been a long time since I have had company here." 

And, weakly, faintly, the stag replied. "I am a man. I need to be strong again. I need to go back." He had not remembered what he was until asked. But an image of a body falling to a carpeted floor flashed before him, and he knew that much. "Please," he continued, in a whisper. "Can you help me?" 

The voice was silent for a long time, but the stag was used to silence, and to long ones at that. The colors had faded again as night came before he received a reply. "You have come to Cernunnos's Well. This is the most magical spot in Britain. And you are a stag, a symbol of rebirth and my very own creature. Yes, I will help you." 

And a new sensation, a feeling of warmth rising up from the stone, entered the stag's body. 

"You are less than insubstantial, stag, but you need only rest here, and let the magic compose you. It will take some time, but that is something we have no dearth of." 

The stag lay on the stone for many weeks. When a new color, red, became visible in the fall, the stag spoke again. "How long have I been like this?" 

"You were ripped from your body eight years whence, I think. There was much damage done, but not as much as could have occurred. Tell me, how did you get like this?" 

And so the stag thought, and searched through himself for the answer. He knew it was buried somewhere, that it was still a part of him, his knowledge of that other life, but it was many more weeks before he was able to say with conviction what it was. 

"I was... outside my body when a Killing Curse hit. I don't know why. It was a chance, but I took it." 

The voice seemed to be considering something. Then, it chuckled. "Brave, reckless creature. So you must return to your life. You acted in defense of your family?" 

"Yes." 

"Then that is the noblest of causes. If I should simply sit aside, you might have a body in fifty years. But I have been idle long, and you will benefit greatly from my aid. Sit still. I shall go to work. And in the meantime, I shall tell you stories." 

* * * 

Twice the stag had watched the seasons roll their course, and all the while had heard ten thousand fascinating stories from the voice of Cernunnos: stories of Taliesin and Pwyll and Olwen and old Welsh gods. So absorbed in these tales he was that he did not notice he was becoming more and more visible. The snow gathered in his antlers, and weighed them down, but he did not realize or detect their weight. He was watching the snowflakes spiral down from the grey, grim sky as he listened to a tale from the Mabinogion when there was a twitch just above his left shoulder. He gasped, unused to the reflex, and then felt it again, all over his back. It was steady, and it took him several minutes to realize he was shivering. 

And inside, his heart rejoiced. Cernunnos paused his story, and observed the stag for a moment. And then, with decided happiness in his voice, he commented, "You see that? We are making progress. I think by summer we shall finish you." 

And the stag shivered again, with glee. 

* * * 

"We are ready," the voice of Cernunnos pronounced. "Stand up." 

The stag obeyed, and rose. He had been a wisp of spirit when he'd arrived at the Well, but now he was a proper beast, towering high over the glen. He was aware of his weight, and of his size. Something, however... something was _missing..._ He did not feel ready. He wondered what Cernunnos was planning. 

"I have enjoyed our time together, stag," the voice said. "You are a good companion after one has been lonely for so long. It was good to tell the old stories again. And it was good to finally put the magic to use again. There is one thing remaining before I can let you go. Go over to the well." 

The stag took his first tentative steps toward the water. For the first time, it tempted him: he was _thirsty. _He paused above the clear pool and stared at the reflection. He was a dark animal, with ebony black antlers and very dark brown fur. He had unusual black patches around his eyes. 

"Go on, take a drink," Cernunnos urged. 

The stag bent down, felt the wetness of the water soaking his throat, sliding down-- 

And suddenly, a fiery warmth began coursing through him, racing through his body with alarming force. His head became light and dizzy, and he could not properly feel his own weight. He danced for a moment on his hooves, and then it hit him. 

_Blood. He was feeling his own blood gushing through his veins._

He bellowed in his insurmountable joy, and bounded away from the spring, for the sheer thrill of such movement. He could hear laughter, that of the voice beneath the rock, and, deep down, his own. He dashed into the forest, prancing through the underbrush. He was free. 

_He was alive._

He returned to the rock, and bowed his head. "How can I ever thank you?" he breathed rapturously. 

Cernunnos chuckled. "By being alive, just as you just were. You are still weak, for a living thing, but if you eat, you will be up to prime strength in no time." 

"A thousandfold thanks," the stag repeated. 

"There is yet one more thing I can give to you," the voice whispered, a bit conspiratorially. 

"What?" 

"Your name." 

The stag was confused. "My name?" 

"Of course! Surely you cannot think you are just called 'stag' when you are a man." 

The stag's pupils dilated, and he stood still for a moment, staring into space. "A man..." Images of a life lost in a flash of green light were playing out in front of his eyes: he saw a wolf, a rat, a dog, and a woman. He saw a little boy with black hair. "A man..." The name was rippling toward him, he knew it was there somewhere, he had a name, he was a _man..._

"Potter!" he burst out, startling even himself. "Potter!" He began to pace. "James Potter. James Potter. I am James Potter. _I am James Potter!"_

"And now fare thee well, James Potter!" Cernunnos cried. "Go north! All you seek lies waiting there!" 

And James Potter left the glen at a run, his blood rushing through his powerful body. 

IV. 

A sickness of hunger hit him as he reached the edge of the forest. He felt weak and empty, and his legs began to shake. But he could not marvel enough at the progress he had made. The journey through the forest had taken him... _years,_ before. Now, on the unnatural strength euphoria and adrenaline had lent him, he had reached the outskirts after two days on the gallop. 

James found a small clearing, and collapsed, huffing, behind a bush. He lay wheezing for several minutes before his heart rate slowed, and he was able to breathe again. He turned his head, and after sniffing the bushes, began eating the leaves. It was not until he was eating that he realized how bloody _hungry_ he was. _Well, after all, you've only had a drink of water in the past..._ He realized that he did not know how long he had been away from the world. He wondered about the faces he'd remembered, faces without names or connections. All he knew was that he was James Potter, and he needed to go north. He wondered about the little boy he'd seen, and the other animals. Were they pets? _Do people own wolves as pets?_ He hardly knew the answer, so dim was his memory of human life. 

After partly satisfying his ravenous appetite, he settled into the ground and lay his head on the ground. An immense weariness caught up on the heels of his hunger. He felt his eyelids turn to lead _(what is lead?)_ and sleep conquered him before he knew it was approaching... 

He dreamed that night, and though the dreams were frightening, he was too exhausted to wake up and end them. Night after night it happened, but by the time he reached his destination, there were things he remembered. Things he needed to know. 

* * * 

_After the Wolfsbane Potion, he had enough human in him to realize he had to run, he had to escape these people before the wolf took over and wrested away control. He fled into the forest, feeling ashamed and angry. His strides were long and fluid. After a while of running, his thoughts abandoned him, and he was absorbed in the simple act of flight._

_The Forest brought back many memories. How often had the three of them romped through these trees? Three--_

_The wolf choked. His head was still a whirl, after the inundation of events tonight. Everything he had firmly believed for the past twelve years had been suddenly and painfully shattered. Sirius, innocent. Wormtail, alive._

_Wormtail._

_A howl was ripped from his throat. All the sorrow that little **rat **had caused --_

_Rrrrr._

_He howled again, a wild and primal sound. He listened to it echo above the trees with a certain satisfaction. He repeated the noise, over and over again. Unlike other full moons, he was somehow feeling... resolved. But with a bitter change of heart, he decided it had to do with the Wolfsbane Potion. Other nights he had not been able to think so rationally._

_Still. Tonight. All those old goodbyes ripped open again. Sirius, he'd condemned and blocked off where he couldn't be hurt by his memory, only to be confronted with that snarling, sunken face in the Shack. And the evidence that had come squealing out of Ron's pocket... Another he'd resigned to the realm of the dead._

_He shivered. There were too many restless memories about tonight. He wished he could just find a spot to rest in, to be away from tonight. Removed. Away..._

_He began loping toward an old favorite spot of theirs -- a clearing with an inexplicable cairn of rocks at the edge. It was one of the deepest places in the Forest they'd ever penetrated. And to think, miles more sprawled out away from the castle..._

_His mind was blank as he ran. He had so much restless energy to expend. The wolf was taking its revenge for being bottled up all year. He didn't feel violent, but he felt... he felt like running._

_And what a night to run._

* * * 

James had been rather pleased to find this place. It helped him think. Just being at Hogwarts was bringing back a deluge of memories. He remembered most of the biggest events from his life now. There were very few names at this point -- Harry, Lily, Dumbledore... and Moony. He was certain he'd know more when he met them. 

He could smell something large and carnivorous nearing him. He didn't feel afraid, emaciated as he was. A stag's antlers can reason with some of the most uncooperative of beasts. He smiled to himself, remembering that stable of horses who had been so reluctant to share their hay... 

He could hear the beast now, could hear its panting and its paws pounding against the ground. He struggled to stand up, and faced the direction of the carnivore, and waited. 

* * * 

_Something was already there, waiting for him in the clearing. He approached it cautiously. It didn't smell right. It didn't smell like a real animal. Or rather, it smelled like a half-beast... someone pretending to be an animal... or someone who was dead once but alive again... He couldn't place it. It didn't smell right at all. It smelled like memories he really didn't want to dredge up right now._

_Rather cautiously, he crossed the tree line and edged forward into the clearing. The darkness was such that he couldn't see what was standing before him, but the smell suddenly became overwhelming and familiar._

_The animal sniffed, and raised its head. A great rack of antlers was outlined against the sky. "I know you..." it said, soft and a little uncertain._

_He felt his tail curl between his legs and his hackles rise. This was supernatural, this was a hallucination, this wasn't **right**_... 

_The animal took a shaky step forward. "You... are you..."_

_"Get away from me!" he yelped, and scrambled backward._

_"Moony! Are you Moony?"_

_The werewolf stood frozen in the darkness, every muscle stiff and afraid. "You aren't real," he whispered. "You can't be real..."_

_The stag took another step toward him. "I think I know you! Please, are you Moony? How do I _know _you?"_

_"Go away!" the werewolf shouted. "I've already said goodbye to you!" He turned tail and ran. He was most relieved that the phantom was not pursuing him._

* * * 

James stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, blinking bleary eyes. The question was not whether or not to do it, it was _how._ The winter had become too much for him. He had, earlier in the fall, arrived at his favorite eating territory and found it churning with dragons. Even though rationally he _knew_ they were gone, the rank stench lingered, and his instincts would not allow him to go back. That glade had been full of the best food in the forest, and without it, he searched fruitlessly for a new source. When the winter came, he had little to fall back on. Tree bark, the last resort of a starving deer, became out of the question after that final bowtrunkle had tried to gouge out his eyes. 

The grounds seemed quite empty. Perhaps the students were on break? James did not think so. A smell of a crowd was perceptible from the other side of the hut, beyond the lake. He huddled against the wind and peered at the hut and stables before him. 

Stronger and overpowering most everything else was the scent of alcohol. It stung his nose and made him dizzy, but he could feel its warmth, and it was _so_ tempting... Beneath the alcohol, he detected other animals: horses perhaps, though they had an odor foreign to him; as well as a dog, and something much more frightening, something menacing and poisonous he could not identify. 

His stomach twisted in on itself, begging for nourishment. He took a step forward. _Perhaps it will be a good thing,_ he thought, closing his eyes. _Perhaps someone will come who can help me. Someone who can make me a man again._ He paused for another moment, and then lurched toward the stable. 

A cluster of the largest horses he had ever seen stopped talking and glared at him. They regarded each other. One of the horses sniffed. _"Que veux-tu?"_ it asked. 

"I'm... I'm sorry?" he rasped. 

The other horses nodded to each other smugly. _"C'est un bête,"_ one said snobbily. _"C'est rien."_ They turned their backs to him and continued what sounded like gossip. James staggered forward once more. The dog began to bark, but he ignored it. The unidentifiable scent grew stronger, and James discovered its source, much to his displeasure, came from next to the stable. The creatures -- for there was no other word for them, except perhaps _monsters_ -- began clicking angrily as he passed them. He froze, petrified, then broke out of it when one raised a menacing appendage and thrust it toward him. 

With a burst of effort, he jogged to the entryway and nosed the door open. The twenty stalls were all empty, but he could tell that the horses occupied them during the evening. He sought one out that did not carry their smell, and was relieved to find it was warm and lined with hay. In the corner was a large metal vat, containing the alcohol he could smell. It was not so bad now, now that he was used it a little. And he could not begrudge it the warmth it provided. He settled down in a pile of hay, and after eating a few mouthfuls from a nearby bale, he drifted off into a fitful doze. 

* * * 

"Ahh, here, me beauties, sorry 'm late." 

James awoke at the sound of the rumbling voice. The horses had all returned, and they stood stamping impatiently in their stalls. Someone was bustling toward his stall, a metal containing clanging as it knocked against the doors. "Here now, you stop that, Goncourt, stop bein' a spoilt babbie. Hey! you'll 'ave t'wait 'till it's filled, I'm not havin' any of that, Hélène!" The names did not roll well off his tongue: it sounded as though the speaker was making a great effort to get them right. The man was coming toward the last stall to the left, where James lay hidden! The stag froze, and huddled down. 

The door creaked open. The speaker was enormous, as tall or taller than James. How he would fit in through the door was beyond him. He was pushing away one of the horses' heads, which was straining to reach beyond its own stall. James braced himself, waiting for what the man would say when he saw him. What occurred was totally unexpected. Every other time he'd been caught in a stable, the owner had fetched some dogs or a weapon and chased him out. This man, though startled to see him there, did not move nor say anything. The two stared at each other. A thought was crossing James's mind. _I've seen him before too, I think I know this man..._

"Lookit th'state of yeh," the man finally said wonderingly. "Skin an' bones, you! S'pose we'll have some fattening up t'do..." He bent down, and stretch out his hand. James leaned forward and sniffed it, feeling the hand could engulf his whole head if it so chose. The man smelt of sweat and animals, and of alcohol, and kindness. James looked back up at his face, hidden behind a bristling black beard. The eyes were twinkling. "'Tis s real pleasure makin' yer acquaintance," he murmured, "an' I'll feed yer soon as I get these horses taken care of. They're real brats, jus' b'tween you an' me." He gingerly sidestepped James, who was thankful, because he was too tired and stiff to move. The man filled his bucket with the alcohol, and it was so large that he did not have to come back for more. James waited curiously, listening to the horses drink and talk with each other. 

Soon, the man came back, with a great bundle of moss and impossibly fresh meadow grass. "Here y'are, then," he said happily. "Eat oop." James made a grateful snuffling noise, and leaned over to begin eating. The giant man closed the door and left him in peace. 

* * * 

_"Professor Dumbledore, sir, can I 'ave a moment?"_

_"Why certainly, Hagrid."_

_"I've, er, got sommat a bit unusual ter tell you."_

_"Yes?"_

_"Well, t'night when I was feedin' them Beauxbatons horses their whiskey, I... well, I found a stag lyin' in the stable, comfy as you like."_

_"A stag? How interesting."_

_"Well sir, it's not... it's not normal stag behavior, like. If you should ask me, it seems like it..."_

_"Please continue, Hagrid, I'm listening."_

_"Well Professor sir, seems like it wants something."_

_"Indeed?"_

_"Aye."_

_"I should like to have a look at this stag, if you don't mind, Hagrid. When would be a good time for me to come down?"_

_"Oh! Oh, er, anytime, sir, anytime!"_

_"Very well, will now do?"_

_"Certainly, sir! Righ' this way!"_

* * * 

"Here 'e is, Professor." 

James awoke to see a new man standing in the door to the stable. He had a beard as white and shining as the moon, and he seemed exude calm and wisdom. He spoke to the man. "Thank you Hagrid. Would you leave us for a few moments? I should like to ask this stag a few questions." 

_Hagrid. I know that name._

Hagrid answered uncertainly, "'Course, Professor. I'll jus' be in me cabin, a'right?" 

"I shall be with you shortly, then. Thank you." 

With a grunt, Hagrid left. The silvery man peered into the darkness of the stable, at James. _That face is familiar too... I know it so well... who is it??_ The man addressed him. "I am most curious to find out about you, sir. I have a feeling you are not what you appear to be. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the Headmaster here at Hogwarts. Do you know me?" 

_Dumbledore! Dumbldore! _That was a story he'd remembered without a face. He leapt up, so suddenly that the horse next door whinnied, surprised. He clamored forward, coming into the light. _Yes! I know you! I knew you before!_

Dumbledore smiled slightly, and his blue eyes twinkled. "Very good, then. Tell me, were you a student here at one time?" 

James tossed his head, hoping Dumbledore would recognize it as a yes. Dumbledore leaned forward, looking very hard at James. "I will ask one more thing of you, and then I will let you rest." He studied the stag carefully, and then asked, "Are you Prongs, of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs?" 

Something huge came rushing back to him. _The Marauders. The Marauders. The werewolf... Searching through a row of books they were forbidden to read... being chased by a cat that couldn't see them..._

"I remember!" he tried to say, but only an agitated moan escaped him. He stood still, trying hard to remember, because he _knew_ he knew how to get back. It was _imperative _he tell this man! He bent his head, thinking. The way back... _"Trans... transfiguro..._" 

A hand touched his shoulder. He jumped back, startled. Dumbledore was looking at him with a mixture of shock, sorrow, and elation. "Do not try it yet," he said softly. "You are yet too weak." He paused. "James, is it really you?" 

_Yes! Yes! Please, let me out, let me out...!_

Dumbledore stepped back, apparently faint with shock. "I... I have some contacts to make. In the meantime, you stay with Hagrid and get healthy again. Once you have sufficient strength, we will try and help you get back." His voice became choked. "James Potter, I am very interested to know why you are alive!" 

* * * 

_To be continued shortly!!_   
Gros bisous _to ChoChang and Orenda over at the MB for beta-reading this! =)_   
August 29th, 2001   



	2. "...Isn*t he with you?"

V.

> _Dear Sirius,  
I do hope you and Buckbeak are well. It is fortunate you have been absent this winter, as it has not been particularly pleasant. _
> 
> A matter of some significance has arisen at Hogwarts. A stag of rather dark coloring has taken up residence at Hagrid's cabin. He has been stabling here for some months, and he is most insistent on remaining. I would like to ask if you might consider paying him a visit, as I have an idea this is no ordinary creature.
> 
> Harry is well. He performed most admirably at the Second Task, as you no doubt have heard. Two more months and our worries shall be over. Sincerely,
> 
> Albus Dumbledore
> 
> Dear Professor,  
I am glad to hear that Harry is fine. When he writes me he always insists that nothing is wrong, so it's reassuring to know he's not covering up anything.
> 
> Respectfully, I am not quite sure how to react to the situation you previously described. If you are suggesting what I believe you may be, then I ask that you please drop the issue. Those wounds do not need reopening. James is dead. I have only recently come to terms with that myself.
> 
> Buckbeak sends his regards, though he wishes there was more to eat around here than rats. Yours,
> 
> Sirius
> 
> Dear Sirius,  
I understand your reluctance. Even I am unable to explain these recent events. But I believe that it would do for you to come all the same. I have also written to Remus, and he shares the selfsame misgivings. Personally, however, I have few doubts about who this could be.
> 
> Dumbledore

* * *

__

Padfoot smoothed out the letter with his nose once again, and scanned over it. The crunch of bones from Buckbeak's corner of the cave no longer broke his concentration, now that he had Dumbledore's last letter memorized. The message itself was some months old: he'd received it in February, and it was now May. But the claim that it made... it was nearly impossible to fathom. For many sleepless nights Sirius had tossed and turned, imagining encounters with James. The dreams were usually not very pleasant: sometimes James had decayed so his skin was now green and sagging; others he had aged fifty years, and was an old, old man with no sense of humor or spark of life about him. Last night had been a new image: Prongs, lying dead somewhere in a forest, being devoured by hounds with the voices of Death Eaters. Sirius always woke shivering from theses nightmares, which he had not had since leaving Azkaban. The hippogriff was highly unsympathetic, and Sirius had usually resorted to reading the letter again to calm himself down.

How could James be alive? Sirius had cradled his body in the ruins of the house in Godric's Hollow: had cried hunched over his best friend for an eternity before Hagrid had come upon him, bearing Harry. Harry. _There was the impetus to act. Not that he wanted to shirk his duties as a godfather, but to have no need of the position... for Harry to have his real father... _

Sirius, you're thinking on the assumption that it's possible, _a bitter voice reminded him._

But Dumbledore... would he lie about something like this? He could be mistaken, of course. But... surely he wouldn't taunt me with a phrase like that. "Personally, however, I have few doubts about who this could be."

__

He does _mean James, doesn't he? Who _else _would he be talking about?_

Padfoot stood up suddenly, as though something else had made a decision for him. Dumbledore would not lie. He told Buckbeak not to worry if he wasn't back this evening, and headed down the Hogsmeade road toward the school.

* * *

The late spring evening was warm and quiet. James could feel a restlessness quivering in his legs: a breeze was wafting in from the stable door, and it was difficult to resist the allure of a moonlight graze. _I'm no tame beast to be kept in here, _he reasoned, and bent down over the stall door to try and loosen the latch. The horses were all stupid creatures, and James had no inclination to teach them this escape, as their company was not very pleasant. After some rattling and pulling, the latch was opened, and he trotted out of the stall and out into the air. 

* * *

This is it. Now or never. Moment of truth. Steel yourself, Padfoot.

__

Sirius cautiously approached the stable, stalking toward it like a pointer. Fang, Hagrid's boarhound, was sleeping outside the cabin. Sirius did his best to creep past, but the hound's nose was too good, even in sleep. His head shot up, and he sniffed suspiciously at Sirius.

"Who're you?" he asked sharply. "Quick now, or I'll bark!"

Sirius stepped forward, wagging his tail in a show of friendliness. "I need to see the stag in here. Is there a stag in the stable?"

Fang raised his eyebrows. "Him? That stag in there is no more of an animal than you are."

Sirius put his ears back, dismayed. "R-really?"

"Indeed not."

Sirius gulped. "Will you... will you permit me to visit him?" He knew the strange doctrine that guard dogs followed religiously, and dismissing its superciliousness would only hinder his mission. 

Fang sat up and began digging at his ear. "You can, though good luck finding him. He's gotten out of the stable. I heard him go out, earlier this evening. Wandering around eating some leaves or something, probably." He snorted. "Herbivores."

"Yeah," Sirius breathed, distracted. "Listen, d'you mind if I wait around at the stable? He is _going to come back, right?"_

Fang made an affirmative snuffle, finished biting his haunch, and looked up at Sirius, licking his lips. "As long as you don't hurt my master or his creatures. Steer clear of the chickens. You may be a man, but a hungry dog will eat anything." He gave Sirius a stern look, which surprised him. "And don't disturb those horses. If they catch wind of you, they'll surely trample the stable. Stupid creatures," he added with scorn. 

Sirius wagged his tail and rolled over briefly. "Thank you," he said as he walked toward the stable. He looked over his shoulder, but the boarhound was already settling down to sleep again.

* * *

__

How will it be?

I see his silhouette against the sunrise and run toward it, only to discover it is a bush, or a tree.

I come upon his body, just as it was that Halloween, and he stirs. When he opens his eyes, they are empty and white, and I awaken in Azkaban.

I chase a stag glimpsed fleetingly through the forest, only to discover it is just a stag.

__

Please, try and imagine that it will work. You cannot enter into this with such doubt. Dumbledore would not lie.

****

Damnit, how is it he could be alive?

__

If I close my eyes, I can see it more clearly, I think. My heart may slow down, and I can think. What would I say? "Hello Prongs. Nice to see you aren't dead."

__

Or: "Christ Jesus, James, what were you thinking, putting us all through hell like that!?"

__

Or: "How?"

__

But most likely it'll be silence. Even I am sure of that.

* * *

He could not stay away any longer. All evening a voice had been whispering to him in pulses, _Go back, go back. _His rumbling stomach and stiff muscles had blocked it out for a goodly part of the night, but as the sky began to blue, the insistence grew stronger. _Go back, go back._

He headed west, the unborn sun at his back. He had not wandered too deep into the forest, and he was familiar with it from _before,_ so he could make it home just before sunrise. 

__

What wants me? he wondered. A few ideas came to mind. Perhaps Dumbledore would be down there. He had visited several times since that winter day, though it had merely been to ask after his health. Or possibly it would be Filch, though he'd only seen the old crank at the stable once, and that had been to pinch some of the whiskey from the vat in the corner. _Anyway, he wouldn't want me down there..._

Time was moving strangely right then. James's stride didn't seem to work correctly: no matter how long it was, he ran at the same rate, and didn't seem to cover the proper amount of distance. The sun was rising very quickly, though. _Very surreal, _he thought a bit dumbly.

The dawn was at its peak brightness when he arrived back at the cabin. He peered into the window of the hut: Hagrid didn't seem to be up yet, and Fang was still asleep on the front step. James hurried towards the stable, wondering what would happen if the gamekeeper knew he escaped during the nights. 

* * *

__

He was in his cell again. A cold wind was blowing a North Sea storm into it. He hated the robes he wore, the same robes he'd worn when he'd found the Potters, when he'd been tricked by Wormtail, when he'd been sentenced by an ambitious and cruel minister. These robes had so many bad memories in them, mingled with the grime and sweat. When I'm free,_ he swore_, I'll burn these_._

A ray of light pierced the gloom, and a warm glow slowly filled the cell. He turned into Padfoot without even knowing he'd done so, and moved forward into the rare patch of sunshine. He gazed up into his minute window, a bare slit open to all the elements outside. The bars began to branch and spread, and the wall shifted up. The sunlight now only came through at the edges...

A bird trilled in the distance. Sirius's eyes snapped open. A dream, _he realized wearily. He squinted, for the sun was directly in his face. His vision came into focus a little more. No, the sun wasn't completely there: something was blocking it. For an instant, he feared the massive figure was Hagrid, come to chase him away. As he stared up at the great shadow above him, Sirius found he had been deprived of the ability to move._

The dark shape lowered its head. With the glare removed, Sirius saw the outline of a rack of antlers. His breath caught in his throat. The face became clearer: a deer's visage, with black patches around its eyes. The stag's eyes were wide and curious, and its breath erupted from its nostrils in staggered bursts of fog. Sirius's entire body locked up in painful stiffness. I know that scent! _something screamed in him. _I recognize that breath! Oh dear God, please don't let this be a dream!

__

The stag and the dog stared at each other. Sirius broke the silence almost involuntarily. 

"Is it really you?"

__

The stag's brow furrowed. "I am James Potter," it said, almost like it was trying to convince itself. Sirius moaned, and lay down. He began to weep.

* * *

"Tell me what happened."

Sirius bowed his head, thinking. The pair were hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest, lying face to face at the edge of a small meadow. James still didn't look real to him: he wasn't even entirely sure he wasn't hallucinating at the moment. His reactions had surprised him: he would have expected relief, or joy, or even a heart attack upon finding out his best friend still lived. Anything but those wrenching sobs welling up from the pit of his stomach. 

"None of what happens next is very easy," he said heavily. He looked up at his friend. "After Voldemort... after he... Christ, after he _killed you,_ he... well, he went after Lily and Harry. He got Lily --" here he choked, and was unable to meet his friend's expression; "-- and, well, then he tried to kill Harry."

There was a silence between them. "So Lily is dead," James said numbly.

"She is."

James bowed his head. After a shudder ran through his body, he looked back up at Sirius. "But Harry? What about Harry? He isn't... dead too?"

"That's the strange thing about him. He isn't. Voldemort did Avada Kedavra, and -- nobody knows why -- it... it bounced back."

"It _what?"_

"Yeah, it, well, it rebounded and hit Voldemort instead. And he's been gone ever since." A flicker of a smile crossed his dog's face. "They call him 'The Boy Who Lived,' you know."

A fervent light entered James's eyes. "Tell me about Harry. Have you seen him lately?"

"I did, in March. A few months ago."

"How is he?"

"Fine, to the best of my knowledge..."

James laughed quietly to himself. "That's right, he's in school most of the time these days..." A fond expression came to his face. "What was he like when he was little?"

Sirius stared at him. _He's forgotten. He hasn't thought it out. _"James," he said in a low voice, "I was in Azkaban for twelve years."

James was startled. He jerked back, confused. "You? What--? How??" 

__

Look, James, using Peter will be the perfect bluff! Who would think to come after him? It's me they'd go for first.

The Fidelius. The charm is down. The protections are gone. Peter--

His stomach lurched, and his mouth went dry. So that was why Padfoot had come to him in secret. That explained the restless sleep he'd been in when James had found him. That explained the haunted look that sometimes veiled his eyes. "Oh." And that was all he could say.

They sat in somber silence for almost an hour after that. Then -- "What happened to him?"

Sirius turned his head sharply. "To who?"

"To Harry," James pressed, almost shyly.

"Went to live with Lily's sister."

"With Vernon and Petunia?" he gasped, horrified.

"Correct as usual, Mr. Prongs," he replied grimly. But with a shake of his head, he abruptly changed the subject. "Harry's a great Quidditch player, you know."

__

Quidditch... Quidditch, I know that... 

"Does he fly well?" he asked. It was a strange question. He wasn't quite sure where it had come from.

"You oughta see him," Sirius said proudly. "I'd chance he's better than you, but I don't want to find myself on the end of those frogstickers attached to your head." The pair grinned at each other as best they could. Sirius wagged his tail briefly, and then cocked his head. "James..." he began, then stopped, wondering how to form his question. James could tell this was what he'd been wanting to ask from the moment they'd set eyes on each other.

"Yes?"

__

"How are you alive?" 

James closed his eyes, and thought back to his time drifting in the strange forest, and lying at Cernonnos's Well. And then, further back... a magic textbook... "I don't exactly know," he said softly. "I was dueling, and I knew he was going to kill me, and then I remembered..."

"Remembered what?"

James stared off into a corner. "_A Treatise on Animalian Self-Transfiguration." _he said. "'Abstractly, the process involves the summoning of your most elemental nature to the surface, and developing the control to push it to the surface at will. This self-essence, when called upon, will abandon the body for the barest of instants, and force the body to assume the appropriate shape before re-entry.' Douglas Wainwright, 1759." 

Sirius gulped. "I don't believe it," he said weakly. "If I wasn't sitting right here with you..." He didn't finish. He stood up and lay down next to the stag. "I am damn glad you did all that reading, Prongs."

James, however, was still looking off into space. "I need to get back," he whispered. "I need to be a man again."

* * *

> _Dear Remus,  
I have come to the place where I have finally decided I'm not mad, although there was a lot of pinching in the process. Dumbledore's letter -- it's true. Moony, it's him! Come as quickly as you can. He's going to try and change back tomorrow. 
> 
> Sirius
> 
> _

VI.

I wonder if Sirius knows his letter feels like holding a dementor.

__

Remus Lupin had alternately been staring into space and at the brief note from Sirius for the past four hours. A longer letter from Dumbledore lay on the kitchen table. He was surprised by his reaction. He hadn't cried. He hadn't spoken. He had hardly moved. He closed his eyes.

I remember when I found out, how angry and devastated I was. I remember losing control. I remember flickering between shapes.

I remember other times, too. I remember retreating to Wales. And then to London. And finally fleeing as far as my Gringott's vault would carry me. To Romania. The whole time trying to forget the world I'd lost.

Some things you lose you cannot take back. I'll never be a proper human again. My parents will never come back from the dead. My friends --

__

have. think of wormtail.

Remus heaved a sigh and squeezed his eyes tighter. I'd really rather not.

"We're the Marauders! We're invincible!"

__

Sirius, always so confident. He never thinks things through.

Maybe he's been taken in. Maybe he wants so desperately to believe that James is back, he'd do this. He'd try and create a man where a stag had been standing.

But would Dumbledore?

Remus opened his eyes again and glanced at the headmaster's letter. It had been refolded, but lay slightly open, the seal still intact. 

> Dear Remus,  

> 
> I realize that our correspondence has been emotionally very trying. James's survival is something we have all wished fervently for, but felt was impossible. It is a reasonable assertion: on record, only Harry has ever survived the Killing Curse, and we still do not know the true reason why. But I urge you, please consider the story that Sirius has relayed to me from his conversations with the stag.
> 
> When Hagrid took me down to the stable and I realized who I was looking at, I did not quite believe it myself. I thought perhaps I was misinterpreting the stag's reactions to fit my own desires -- that seemed the logical explanation. But magic often does not follow the course of human logic. There was an older, deeper force at work here, I am sure of it. Both wizards and Muggles have myths concerning the reanimation of the dead at the hands of gods. While I do not believe a deity, as such, is responsible, I am positive that James found his way to a spot of extraordinary power, much like Stonehenge or Tara, and was able to become corporeal again.
> 
> The element of sacrifice is a strong vein in the ancient magic, and we know how Lily's death placed a powerful protection on Harry. James was acting in defense of his family, and I believe the devotion that you and I remember so well is what has saved him.
> 
> Please reconsider your previous position, Remus. Sirius tells me he asks for you, and does not want to attempt his change back without your presence. If you change your mind, please contact me at once. Sincerely,
> 
> Albus Dumbledore

__

Dumbledore would not tell me such things if they were not true. Surely he wouldn't hit me where it hurts the most without a damn good reason.

But he said so himself -- he thought he was mistaken.

__

He also said he'd been convinced. 

Oh God, if it could be true...

Remus began to imagine. His face would be worn, and pale, and he would surely be very tired. His shocking black hair might be completely white. But his eyes would be the same.

__

"I think I know you! Please, are you Moony? How do I know _you?"_

I saw a stag one full moon while I was in Romania. It stared at me with vacant eyes and ran away. I didn't have the heart to chase it. It had been so empty. _That other... that other..._

Very quietly: I think I should do this.

Are you sure?

__

Remus stood up, heavily. He stood, supporting himself with the flimsy kitchen table for a few moments, then let go. He stood in the center of the room, then walked over to the cheap fireplace on the opposite wall. He drew his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the grate. He said a spell, and felt strangely light-headed. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking at Dumbledore's office. Fawkes was perched nearby, studying him curiously. The phoenix gave a soft trill, and Dumbledore swooped down from behind his desk and knelt down, face-to-face with the fire.

"Hello Remus!" he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Hello, Professor," he replied, feeling a bit shy. He opened his mouth, to try and say it, but no words came out. He took a breath and tried again. "I've... I've changed my mind."

Dumbledore's face became slightly solemn. "I am glad to hear it."

"I'd like to come as soon as possible, please."

"That can be arranged. Do you have Floo Powder?"

"I'm not on the networks."

Dumbledore frowned. "It's too much trouble to set you up, both James and Sirius are feeling quite impatient. Why don't you apparate to Hogsmeade, and I'll meet you there?"

Remus felt the knot in his stomach twist even more. "I... Certainly, professor." He bowed his head, and then looked at Dumbledore again. "Thank you," he said, his voice cracking and strained.

"I would not dream of not telling you."

The two men were silent for a moment more; then Remus said, "Well, I'll be over shortly then."

"We look forward to seeing you."

Remus said the spell again, and he was standing in his kitchen once more. He was shaking from head to toe. He hadn't Apparated in a good while... and he hadn't been too good at it even after his test. But he steeled himself, and locked all his doors and windows. Then -- "Hogsmeade Station!" -- _and the room was empty._

* * *

__

It felt very strange, walking through Hogwarts again, Dumbledore at his side. He remembered another stroll they'd taken, when he'd been eleven years old -- an early morning walk, private, to explain about the Whomping Willow, the Shrieking Shack. For some reason, the same dread had settled in the pit of his stomach as on that day. 

They wound their way down stairwells and corridors, through the maze of dungeons, in silence. For a moment, Remus thought of the Marauder's Map, and Harry. Did he know? And moreover, what might he think if he suddenly saw Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, _and _James Potter_ all clustered together in a room? _

"Does Harry know about this?" he asked Dumbledore as they turned a corner and passed Snape's office. Dumbledore shook his head.

"No. I fear the shock would be too much for him, especially as he prepares for the Third Task."

"Ah." There was a pause. "When is that?"

"Ten days from now." Wordlessly, then walked on.

"When are you going to tell him?"

Dumbledore looked at him. "I think his father will have to decide that, don't you?"

Remus felt a mixed flutter of joy and apprehension. "Of course."

The headmaster stopped in front of a statue of Gytha the Gullible. "Here we are," he said softly. He stuck his wand into her left ear and muttered, "Admit us, please." The statue grinned quite suddenly, and sank into the floor. Remus was impressed -- even they had never been able to figure out this password. A new staircase rose up in front of them, with dappled sunlight dancing on the uppermost steps. He swallowed his question, and continued following Dumbledore.

After twenty minutes of steady climbing, they reached a landing. A plain wooden door stood before them. Dumbledore faced Remus. "They're waiting on the other side. Are you ready, Remus?"

I'm not sure. My throat is dry and my knees have turned to water and I think there's an earthquake inside of me, but other than that, I might be ready, yes.

__

Instead, he nodded. Dumbledore put his hand on the knob and opened the door.

* * *

"You remember the words, right?"

Sirius, in his man form, was fretting. James snorted, hoping he understood his meaning. _Yes. We've gone over this. I'm ready._

The door opened, and Dumbledore walked in, followed by--

__

Moony!

He looked different than last time he'd seen him, but considering he'd been a wolf at the time, that was understandable. Remus had spotted him too, and was frozen to the spot. James, however, bounded as best he could over to him, and wished he was a man already, so he could hug him and smile and laugh and shout and say exactly what it felt like to see him again. He lowered his head and stood eye-level with Remus, whose jaw had dropped. After a long silence, Remus raised one hand up to James's muzzle: it hovered, almost unwilling to come down.

When he touched him, his whole body gave a spasm. Then, after a long, marveling stare, he smiled, and breathed, "Hello, you."

__

Remus Moony I have so much to say to you hello being the least of them but hello! hello! hello!

Sirius stepped forward and he and Remus hugged warmly. He then looked around at the others and said, "We ready?"

Remus gulped, and Dumbledore looked at James.

__

My friends are here I'm ready.

He nodded, and walked back into the center of the room. Sirius followed, and stood at his left shoulder. He motion for Remus to do the same, who, in a daze, took up a spot on the right and laid his trembling hand on James's back.

"We'll be right here with you," Sirius said in a low voice. "Do it whenever you're ready."

James tossed his head, to feel the weight of the antlers one last time, and then closed his eyes, concentrating. He sifted through every memory he had, drawing every happy thought closer. _Lily. Harry. Sirius. Remus. Dumbledore. My wedding day. Harry's birthday. Graduating from Hogwarts. Proposing to Lily._

"I am a man," he whispered, feeling his muscles begin to tense, and quiver. "I am a man." He began letting out deep, hasty breaths, repeating the mantra over again. Something was stirring inside him, something deep and fiery in the pit of his stomach. "I am a man.

"I am a man.

"I am man!

__

"Transfiguro me!"

The hot feeling in the core of his body disappeared. Everything was still. He could feel Remus and Sirius gripping his shoulders. A note of panic fluttered in his heart.

An explosion ripped through his stomach. With a cry, he reared up. A flash of red light filled the room.

__

I am gone again I am dissolved!

No...no... I am outside. I am going back! I am a man! **I am a man!**

In the silence that followed, James Potter crumpled to the floor.

His first sensation was one of coldness. He shivered. Opening his eyes, he saw two long, pale arms sprawled across the stone floor. His breath caught in his throat. He was unaware of the other three men staring at him, was unaware of his nakedness and his chill. He drew himself, weakly, into a sitting position, still staring at his hands. Out of the corner of his vision, he noticed legs too. With feet. Not hooves -- _feet._

He looked up, at Sirius and Remus towering over him, stock still.

__

I am free. 

Quickly, Remus whipped off his robes and draped them over his back. He knelt down and put his arms around James's shoulders. James's chest began to heave. Sirius was immediately with him too. An incredible warmth welled up inside him. Wordlessly, joyfully, James began to cry.

* * *

__

She came... first her head, then her body... a young woman with long hair, the smoky, shadowy form of Lily Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like Cedric. She smiled at him, and spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others.

"Harry... you'll be all right... hold on..."

Harry, his arms shaking madly now, looked into the ghostly face of his mother. He tried to speak, wanted to talk with her more than anything else in the world right now, but his voice would not come: he could only stare. His mother gave him a sad, but protective look.

"When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments... but we will give you time... you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts... do you understand, Harry?"

"I-I do," Harry gasped, fighting to keep a hold on his wand. Something is missing, someone is not here... "No! Wait! Mom!" She came closer, gazing at him lovingly. Harry gulped. "But.. but where's Dad?"

For the first time, Lily furrowed her brow. "James isn't here," she said, confused. "Harry, isn't he with you?"

~*~

A/N: Okay, first of all: **wow.** Thank you so much, everyone who wrote such kind and wonderful reviews! I'd thank you all individually, but ff.net seemed to have eaten the first eighteen =( But I can't say enough how much your words mean!

More will come! Thank you so much again!


	3. "...and one of us was crying."

> And Ulysses said, "I am no god, why should you take me for one? I am your father, on whose account you grieve and suffer so much at the hands of lawless men."   
As he spoke he kissed his son, and a tear fell from his cheek on to the ground, for he had restrained all tears till now. But Telemachus could not yet believe that it was his father, and said:   
"You are not my father, but some god is flattering me with vain hopes that I may grieve the more hereafter..." 
> 
> _-The Odyssey,_ Book XVI

VII.

_Not for the first time, Harry Potter lay fully awake on his bed at Number Four, Privet Drive. Night had not yet fallen, but he had retreated to the safety of his room early in the afternoon, and didn't really want to come downstairs to face the empty house. _**Mercifully **empty_. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had gone to Brighton for the bank holiday, and Dudley was spending the weekend at a friend's. His solitude was only ever interrupted by brief visits from Mrs. Figg. Harry wondered why they had had the nerve to leave him alone in their house -- they were perpetually afraid of him blowing it up or some such thing. Perhaps it had to do with the carefully hidden letter he had spotted in the sitting room._

_When Mrs. Figg came, once at ten in the morning, and again at six in the evening, Harry had the strongest urges to ask her things. Like her first name._

"You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher -- the old crowd."

_On her first checkup, he'd watched her, examining her movements and words more closely than before. He paid particular attention to the chatter he'd previously considered inane -- about her many cats, and her garden -- hoping for a clue. But if she was a witch, she was keeping the fact closely guarded. Harry sighed. There were too many weird things going on, shaking the foundations of what he'd believed all his life._

_The first shock, of course, had been learning he was a wizard. And a famous one at that on top. Sirius's innocence, Voldemort's return, Cedric's death... each event had showed him that not everything could be what it appeared to be. He had grown up in a world with no magic and no parents. And now... in his realm of the supernatural, he was learning stunning things about the truth._

_Many parts of the Third Task haunted him relentlessly. Often he woke up in a cold sweat after dreaming about Wormtail cutting off his hand, or Voldemort rising from that cauldron, or... or..._

"Isn't he with you?"

_What was that supposed to mean? Of course, he hadn't actually _seen _his mother, or her ghost for that matter. But the fact that his father hadn't appeared at all... After Lily Potter had emerged from Voldemort's wand, another woman had followed. But unless she had been present at his house, and was killed in between his parents..._

_Harry lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. _I wish I knew... _he thought. For once, he had no hope of a real answer from his two best friends. Ron would just gape, and Hermione wouldn't even have a book she could turn to for an answer. He could hear her right now:_

"Well, Harry, the most logical explanation would be to say that your father isn't actually dead... but, the thing is, well, _he is._ Everybody knows he is."

_Harry rolled onto his side and focused on Hedwig's cage. Hedwig was off hunting at the moment. He needed to write to Sirius. A real letter this time. Even better: he needed to _see _his godfather. He was harboring questions he somehow felt he couldn't properly convey in ink. _What did Dumbledore ask you to do? What's going on? And why did my mom say that to me...? _Even in his head they sounded weak and tinny._

_He shuddered, and tried to think of Sirius again. _I wish he'd stayed. Not that we could have spent any time together, but still, all the same... _Harry wondered how owls always knew how to find the addressees. If only he could hitchhike on Hedwig's back, or follow her on his Firebolt. Just to see Sirius. To talk to him._

_He lay on his back again and stared at the ceiling, wondering how he could get in touch with Sirius _right now. _There was Floo Powder, of course, but where would he get any? And the Dursleys hadn't been on the network since that day the Weasleys came through to pick him up..._

_It then occurred to Harry that he didn't quite know where Sirius was _staying. "Lie low at Lupin's for a while" _Dumbledore had said. Where was that? Harry hadn't heard from Professor Lupin in over a year, not since he's resigned from Hogwarts. He could be anywhere._

_Anywhere._

"Anywhere you like, long's it's on land."

_The pockmarked face of Stan Shunpike rose unbidden in his mind. Harry frowned. Surely not. Surely it wouldn't work again. And anyway, the first time he'd done it, it had been on accident, after seeing Sirius. _Well, maybe you can reverse the process: call the bus and then go see Sirius.

_What was it Stan had said after he'd helped him up? _"Stuck out your wand 'and, dincha?" _If it was that simple, then if he hailed the Knight Bus, he technically wouldn't be breaking the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry... and an exchange of wizarding money couldn't be classified as magic, otherwise any Muggle showing a stray Knut to a curious friend would have a swarm of Ministry officials on their heads in minutes._

_Harry slid off his bed and opened his sock drawer. A small pouch of gold was hidden in a back corner. He slipped it out and tucked a few Sickles in his pocket, enough for two trips. Then, just in case, he got out his wand and put it in the pocket of a light jacket which had belonged to Dudley before Harry had gone to Hogwarts. He wished he could climb out the window, but the drop was too far, and besides, Aunt Petunia would have a fit if her rose bushes were crushed, letter in the kitchen or no. Very quietly, in spit of the abandoned house, he crept through the door, down the stairs, and outside through the back. He didn't have a key to get back in, so he left the back door unlocked. He walked past the garage, over the driveway, and into the street. He looked up, examining the other houses for lights. Then, in a moment of recklessness, his right hand shot skyward. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited._

_A strange pop from behind made him jump. He turned around to see a much smaller, though still violently purple, single-level bus puffing patiently in the middle of Privet Drive. The door opened with a wheeze, and Harry jumped on before any questions were asked._

_There was no doorman, only a bedraggled-looking driver behind the wheel. Several older women were snoozing in the back rows, their heads lolling onto each other's shoulders. The driver cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Where headed, son?" he asked in an almost indecipherable accent._

_Harry wasn't quite sure what to say for a moment. "I... I don't exactly know," he said lamely. "I don't have an address, but I--"_

_The driver sighed, and pushed forward a clipboard with a quill dangling off the side. " S'extra when y'don't know. One Galleon round trip. Sign 'ere an' give us th'name."_

_Harry obliged, and handed the clipboard back with the assorted change that made up a Galleon. The driver shook his head wearily and pointed to a small box to the right of the door. Harry slid the coins in, one by one, and the bow spat out a small sheet of paper with a number on it. "Jus' give 't to th'driver when y'ail 'gin."_

_"A-alright," he stammered, and as the bus lurched forward, he slumped down in a moldy, imitation leather seat with cracks and stuffing coming out. _I hope you know what you're doing, _the voice of reason cautioned._

_The ride did not last very long, and the bus touched down in front of a modest cottage on a wide, deserted moor. "Residence of Remus Lupin," the driver called in a flat voice. Harry scuttled forward, so he wouldn't repeat the name again. All the ladies were still asleep. The driver looked up at him. "Don' ferget yon ticket," he reminded Harry as he stepped off the bus. When Harry turned to reply, the bus was gone._

_"Well, here you are," he said firmly to himself. He studied the house. Although there were obviously no inhabitants for miles around, the cottage seemed highly illuminated. No lights were on inside. Harry imagined Lupin and Sirius were sleeping. For a moment, he felt some hesitation. What was he doing? What right had he to disturb them? Surely they were doing pressing work for Professor Dumbledore. They would need all the rest they could get, and an impromptu visit from Harry was probably the last thing they needed. Snape's biting words from last year stung him again, echoing in his ears involuntarily. _Just an arrogant boy who thinks rules are beneath him. _Harry felt indignation rising in his gut. _But this is important. I really need to talk to Sirius. _He raised his hand and knocked on the door._

_Nobody answered. Harry drew his hand back, and frowned. Perhaps they were out. Why hadn't he just waited until morning, and sent Hedwig? His regrets were interrupted by a shuffling within. The movement sounded labored, and they seemed to be doing their best to come to the front of the house. _Maybe Professor Lupin is sick, _Harry thought. _Maybe something has happened to Sirius!

_The door swung open. The light from within didn't reveal who it was, but one thing was certain, it wasn't Sirius or Professor Lupin. Harry stepped back, frowning. "Who--?"_

_"Get inside! Quickly!" a man's voice rasped. Before Harry could react, a thin, shining hand wrapped itself around his upper arm and dragged him inside. The door slammed shut behind, and the speaker went about resetting a variety of locks. "It's the full moon tonight, what are you thinking?" he said with a touch of anger in his voice._

_The man's back was still turned, but Harry could see through the outline of his robes that he was dreadfully thin. The physical effort of turning the locks seemed almost too much for him. Harry felt the urge to help, but the urge to watch was even stronger. He peered into the darkness._

_"Who are you?" he asked as the man cranked the final lock and turned around to lean on the door. The man didn't answer. He seemed to be staring at Harry. Harry could make out some features too, now that his eyes were better adjusted to the light. The man wasn't really glowing, but his skin was so pale and translucent it seemed to. The moon shone off a mop of thick hair which seemed to be streaked with white._

_"Harry?" the man asked in a soft voice. "Are you... Harry? Harry _Potter?" _He really should be used to it by now, but the stranger was saying it in a different tone than everyone else ever had..._

_"Who are you?" he repeated warily. "Where's Sirius?"_

_"Out with Moony," the man replied, a note of shock in his voice._

_"What?" Harry said, startled. "How do you--"_

_The speaker stepped into a patch of moonlight. Harry didn't blink. He didn't even gasp. But that was because he couldn't. He was frozen as surely as though someone had placed a Full-Body Bind on him. For he was looking at the most impossible thing in the world._

* * * 

Of course, Sirius and Remus had shown him pictures, but it simply wasn't the same. All those had been newspaper clippings, and he'd been fighting to leave the photo in all of them. In person, even in the darkness, there was so much more to him. _He has so much of Lily shining through, _James thought, a stitch of pain and longing in his chest. _But so much of me as well._

How well he remembered being fifteen and living with the gangly limbs and the rebellious hair and the strange in-between-ness of adolescence. The jacket Harry wore was far too big for him. Was he growing that fast that Vernon and Petunia had bought it for him so large? He sounded like he still wasn't used to his new voice either. _So many things are unsure for him, and then I have to come in. Why couldn't this have waited?_

"It really is you, isn't it," he said wonderingly, reaching out a hand. He wanted to sweep away the mop of hair, to see the fabled scar, to touch his son for the first... for the second time in fourteen years. Harry jumped back, alarmed and still unable to speak. "Harry," James tried, "I hadn't wanted us to meet like this--"

"What are you talking about?" he shouted suddenly, regaining his voice. "Who do you think you're supposed to be, anyway?"

James rested his hand on the back of a red plush armchair for support. "I..." He gulped, feeling his face growing hot and his throat constricting. _How am I supposed to word this?_ "Harry, it's me. Your father."

Now father and son were the same unhealthy shade of white. "What are you talking about?" Harry whispered painfully. "My father's dead."

"By all rights, he should be," James replied, a bit grimly. "It's a long story, but I'm not. If you'll sit down, I can tell you--"

Harry wrenched himself away again, and pressed his back against the stout wooden door. "What do you think you're trying to pull? Nobody's ever survived the Killing Curse!"

James smiled faintly at the irony. "Except you, Harry."

A new note of anger entered the boy's voice. "Yeah, that's because my mum _died_ to protect me! And my dad! So what are you doing, talking about him like... like you can even _pretend _to be him?!"

"Harry... Harry, please, come sit down--"

"So have you tricked Sirius and Professor Lupin into thinking you're my dad, then?" he snarled accusingly. "Have you used their pain to get them to take care of you or something? Well it's not going to work! I'm going out right now and telling them--" His hand moved swiftly behind his back for the knob.

James moved forward again. "Harry... there's a werewolf out there. And we're locked in against him. Please, why don't you come sit down?" He suddenly found himself staring down a wand. Harry's shoulders were heaving, and his eyes were wide.

"I'm not stupid," he said, breathing heavily. "I know the Alohomora Charm. And the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry doesn't apply in terms of self-defense..."

"What do you think Remus will do if he catches scent of you? If you're out running on the moor, there's only so much Sirius can do to protect you."

Both Potters were silent for a tense moment. Moving very slowly, James lifted his hands and spread his fingers. "I'm not armed," he said in a low voice. "There's not a thing I can do to hurt you."

"You could have fooled me," Harry replied, a strangled quality to his voice that wrapped itself around James's heart and squeezed like an anaconda. "And anyway, if you were really my dad, Prongs could keep Moony away."

James closed his eyes. _There is no point in getting angry. He does not know, he doesn't understand._ "I have spent more than my fair share of time as Prongs," he said in a measured tone. "It was Prongs that kept me alive for thirteen years." _And the thought of seeing you again._ But he didn't say it.

Harry's head moved slightly. In the brief moment it was bathed with moonlight, James could see it was shining with wetness. "You may go if you wish," he continued. "The locks are all manual Muggle ones, no magic needed. You can take care of them without getting in trouble. I saw the bus drop you off. It can be here before Moony finds you. But do this for me: ask Dumbledore. He will tell you the truth."

Harry shook his head. "I have no need to tell Professor Dumbledore about my nightmares," he replied, and began toying with the locks without looking at them.

James looked down at his feet, over to his left, where the kitchen table stood on uneven aluminum legs, and then back at Harry. He backed up a little, and lowered himself onto the arm of the chair. Wordlessly, he and Harry kept up eye contact while Harry frantically fiddled with the locks. With one final _click_ he opened the fifth one, opened the door, and backed out. A few moments later, bright headlights flooded the room though the window above the kitchen sink.

James closed his eyes. _So Harry is gone. I hope he doesn't remember me like this. I hope he believed this _is _some sort of cruel dream, and that by the time he wakes up tomorrow he won't remember the stub of paper for the return trip._ He sank backwards, and then turned himself around so he was sitting in the chair properly. _Next time... when the time is right... then perhaps it will be better._

_Oh God. What just happened tonight?_

* * * 

At dawn, when Sirius dragged Remus inside, James was still slumped in the armchair, hand resting on his temple, staring blankly into space. Once he'd finished pulling their friend into his bed, Sirius joined James and sat down opposite him on the floor.

"Rough night," he commented abruptly. "You didn't miss anything." He looked up at James, to gauge his reaction. His face fell. "What's wrong?"

James blinked, still fixed on the same spot on the wall. "Harry was here last night," he said.

"What?" Sirius squawked. "That's impossible. You must have dreamed it."

James leaned back, and felt his neck crack. He then lifted an arm and pointed at the door. "He was standing there for maybe five, ten minutes. A Knight Bus brought him over and back. You'll probably see the tracks now that it's light."

Sirius furrowed his brow. "Do you... want me to go and look?"

James shrugged. "I don't know. I'm... I'm still reeling."

Sirius studied him briefly, and then stood up. "I'm famished," he declared, in a tone that clearly meant he was trying to change the subject. "Want something to eat? I could go for a roast ox at the moment, I think."

A small smile crossed James's face. "Carnivore," he laughed, willing himself not to dwell on last night. _Nothing will come of mulling it over. And you'll know what to do once you've got something inside you._ "A hot chocolate for me, maybe. With lots of whipped cream, what do you think?"

Sirius snorted. "That's hardly nutritious, don't you think, Mr. Potter?"

"What, are you the new health expert now? He who would be content to eat Every Flavor Beans for every meal?"

"Well, there's always the chance you'll get a full course. I mean, you could have broccoli, chicken, cod liver oil, cheesecake, vodka, haggis--"

James gagged, feeling a little better now that Sirius was with him. "Is that what your mother cooked when she didn't have company? No wonder you turned out the way you did!"

His friend raised an eyebrow. "Don't make me come over there."

"I'll throw a book at you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes. Some of Remus's light reading, perhaps?" He cast his gaze around. It fell on a hefty volume on a shelf beneath the rickety coffee table next to the chair. He leaned down, and with some effort, extracted it. James read the spine with amazement. "I can't believe he's still like this. _Conceptual Physics?_ Isn't this Muggle stuff?"

Sirius shrugged. "Maybe he's on a kick. I found _Physics for Poets_ on his bed when I put him in there. It probably won't last. Remember when he was so interested in tellyvizzins?"

"What are they again?"

"I don't really remember." The two were silent as Sirius shuffled around the pantry for something to eat. He returned to the table with a box of biscuits in hand. He ate them rather noisily, like he was purposely trying to break his teeth. James, however, was staring into space again.

_Just a few hours ago, my son was here._

And he wondered when Harry would understand, and when he would get to see him again.

VIII. 

_From the Pensieve of Albus Dumbledore:_

**First layer**

Sirius Black's wan faces rises up in front of me. "He still doesn't quite believe it all is happening again."

"Is he scared?"

"Strangely, he's not. He's been pretty calm, actually. He doesn't want to be scared. He wants to stop it."

**Second layer**

Through the flickering shadows, I see the contours of the visage of Severus Snape. "What news?"

"I have seen Wormtail. He is indeed alive, as Black and Potter said. No one is aware of Potter."

"I cannot thank you enough, Severus."

Severus's face is immobile. "I must go. Lucius Malfoy may be coming soon. We are to discuss Untraceable Poisons."

"What will you tell him?"

**Third layer**

Harry drew back the sleeve of his robe, his face still pale and ashen. "He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's..." _abriefinstantofstaticintheimage somethinglikeashimmer_ "--he touched my face."

**pause.**

_Dumbledore touches his wand to the Harry in the Pensieve. A new view spins into focus: Harry's point of view. Dumbledore watches as a gleam of something like triumph sparks in his eyes. A weary sigh._

**normal.**

And here is what I am thinking: that the spell Voldemort used has given us both something. And I know there is a chink in his armor.

But the problem with snakeskin is the way the scales are so close together. One must slip a very thin knife under each to reach the lifeblood and cancel it out.

* * * 

_Harry Potter dreams._

I remember having this dream when I was a third year, of chasing something white and shining through the Forbidden Forest. I couldn't make it out, though I could hear it galloping, and somehow I was keeping up. I used to know what it was, because I've seen it since then, but now I can't remember. This time I come into a clearing where there's no sound and all light. There's a little pool on the other side, next to a strange formation of rocks. There's something shimmering on top of the rock, and it's strange, because even though it's the bright creature I was chasing in the woods, it looks like a dark spot against the rest of the light. It looks like it's condensing, like those diagrams from Muggle school when they talked about the universe solidifying from gas and starlight.

But then I hear a noise, and since it's so quiet, even though it's just the crackling of leaves, it startles me. I jump, and I see a werewolf. I know it's Professor Lupin, even though only the Marauders have ever seen him like this. I keep waiting for him to attack me, because I know he has no control over himself like this. I just _know_ he hasn't had the Wolfsbane Potion, and I stand frozen to the spot wondering what it will be like, being a werewolf. But he doesn't bite me. He looks at me with these horrible sad eyes and says, "You look just like your father but you have your mother's eyes."

He doesn't say anything else. A big explosion with no noise erupts in the bottom of my rib cage, like when a really low sound hits you. It does the opposite of blind me: I suddenly see that I'm not really in a forest, but at a bus station. Fawkes is sitting on my shoulder, and nobody is looking at him. All around him are these little sparks, like the dust that comes within a certain distance of him bursts into flames. He doesn't sing or anything: he just stands there and looks at the people walking by. I can tell they're all Muggles. I know this. Nobody glances at us. Slowly, they start to fade, and disappear, until I'm in an empty street. I start wandering through the neighborhood, which looks like some sort of financial district. At a T-intersection a couple of blocks away, I come to a big hole in the cobbled street. I can see swarms of rats in the sewer below. "Go find him, Fawkes," I say, and I can feel my throat close over. "Go get his eyes like you did with the Basilisk."

But Fawkes won't. He takes off, and somehow I'm following him. I'm not flying on my broom or anything, but we end up in a dungeon with a skylight. The room is empty, but I can see hoof prints on the floor. I look around to ask Fawkes about this, but the phoenix is gone. The room starts to pulsate around the edges, and I know I have to get away. I run out, and don't recognize where I am at all. I wonder where the Marauder's Map is, and I shuffle around in my pockets, but I'm not wearing my school robes, I'm just in regular clothes.

But then I look up and I know I'm okay, because Sirius is standing in front of me. Not like I know him, but like my dad must have known him -- he looks like he's about twelve years old. He gives me this huge grin which I've only seen on Fred and George's faces before, only this is magnified; and he puts a finger to his lips. He leads me through a passage of corridors, until finally we come to a dead end. Only it's not a dead end, it's a door, a door which stretches from the ceiling to the floor.

I ask Sirius if he knows how to open it, but he just shakes his head and suddenly ages twenty years. He's starving, and dressed in the gray rags he escaped from Azkaban in. He frightens me, like he did in the Shrieking Shack; and I grab the handle of the door and yank. A huge flock of small tropical bird fly out, and I have to shut my eyes and back away, because they're a cloud and they really seem like Professor Flitwick's keys from first year.

The flock of birds finally abates, and I run headlong into whatever room is in front of me.

It's Professor Lupin's house, from earlier this summer. My dad is standing there, and this time I _know_ it's my dad, unlike that other guy. Immediately I run to him, and he hugs me, and it feels like everything I've ever imagined it to be. We start talking, and while I understand each individual word, nothing he says as a whole I comprehend. I start asking questions, but my tongue is thick and uncooperative.

But then I'm breathing again, and I know we've let go, and Professor Lupin's front door is open again. My dad is telling me to go out, and I don't want to obey, but I know I have to, so I tear myself away and I do. There's no werewolf tonight. He's back in the Forbidden Forest.

The sky is perfectly clear: all the stars are shining brightly and precisely. The moor seems more like a savannah, with the long grasses rippling beneath an ill wind. I look back, and the house is now very far away. I can see my dad's shape outlined against the lights inside, and I ask him what am I supposed to do? But he doesn't say anything, he just watches me, so I turn around.

And there is a vast looming blackness, and lying before it is Cedric Diggory. He's dead, but still alive, because his eyes are moving, and his mouth is saying things I hear all too clearly. I look back up at the blackness, because it's almost easier, and inside I see my mother's red hair fighting to get out. My heart changes its rhythm, so it's even and slow, and then a pulse rips from my stomach and rushes through the air.

When I take my arms away from my eyes, I find I'm crouched on the ground, and shaking. My blood feels like its fizzing, and I can't feel any of my limbs. Cedric is gone, and so is the blackness. It's just stars and my dad's silhouette again. I stand up, and watch as the bright, silvery creature I was chasing at the beginning bursts through my chest and disappears into the horizon before I can identify what it is.

I'm speechless; I'm almost nothingness; and I look for my dad to hug me again. He's standing right behind me now, but I can't touch him, because something nagging inside of me is saying _he might not be there, _even though something deeper is saying _you know what you saw!_ I feel like the gulf between us is somehow my fault, and if I could just pull a bridge from my pocket it would be okay, but I have no robes, only jeans. I try anyway, and reach my hand out. My dad's expression means that he really misses me, I know. I try and talk to him, but we're each in a bubble of silence. My dad shimmers, and my vision goes haywire. And then

_And then I woke up and one of us was crying._

~*~ 

_A/N: Again, I cannot thank enough all the readers who reviewed the previous two chapters!! I want to add special thanks to Neil Gaiman, for writing the last line _(A Game of You), _and to my **hyper-chouette **beta reader, [Adrienne Odasso][1]. Please, go read her stories: they will not only blow you away, they will have you rolling in your computer seats with laughter. She's encouraged me and given me direction, and it's thanks to her that I've really solidified the plot for _Prongs.

_If Part VIII confused you, don't worry, all will be revealed in good time..._

_Encore une fois, merci à toutes les personnes qui m'a donnée les notes!_

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=Directory-AuthorProfile&UserID=87227



	4. "...to have words with his son."

IX.

"I can't believe July's almost over," Sirius marveled as the three men climbed the staircase which would lead them to the corridor which lead to Dumbledore's office. "Feels like the summer was just beginning."

"Time flies when you're having fun," Remus replied ruefully, with a small ironic smile playing about his lips.

James was silent. He was wondering what he should do for Harry's birthday, if anything.

"I just hope we've been on the right track with all this stuff," Sirius continued. "If Dumbledore tells us it was all for nothing, I may just start screaming. And I've got quite a scream, you know."

Remus rolled his eyes and sighed. The trio kept on trudging upwards.

__

Should I send him anything at all? James thought distractedly. _Sirius said he'd slip something in with his present -- that if I sent him something big, with a card, he-- it wouldn't be good for him. _He raised his eyes and watched the ceiling of the darkened stairwell. _Hard to believe it's been fifteen years..._

"Ow! Cripes, there's a wall here!"

__

"Lumos," came Remus's voice, and the small light from his wand revealed Sirius, hunched over and clutching his nose. "Do you remember the password?" he asked.

"Nimbeth, I think," Sirius answered thickly.

Remus raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Nimbus?"

Sirius shrugged, and continued massaging his face.

Remus pursed his lips, frowned a little, and then said, "Mole pox."

Sirius scoffed. "Oh yeah, like that'th going to--" He was cut off by the disappearance of the wall. James chuckled softly, and followed Remus into the hallway.

The gargoyle looked just the same as he remembered: stumpy and stubborn. Remus approached it, and said clearly, "Cauldron cakes." The gargoyle sprang to life, and leapt aside. Sirius shook his head, laughing silently to himself. The three men filed into the door and climbed onto the moving staircase. 

Sirius knocked when they reached the door to Dumbledore's office. Immediately it swung inward, and the old, eccentric headmaster stood beaming in front of them. "Hello, my friends! Come in, come in! Please, have a seat. I am sure we have much to talk about."

__

Yes, I think we probably do.

James was just behind Sirius when a large red shape swooped down from the ceiling and landed on Sirius's head. Everyone but Dumbledore jumped in surprise: the old wizard simply stood by and laughed. "My! Fawkes certainly seems glad to see you as well."

The phoenix let out a soft trill and bobbed its head. Sirius exhaled, and Remus began to chuckle. Fawkes rustled his feathers a little and settled down. Sirius stood stock still. "Well... what am I supposed to do?" he asked, a hint of bemusement in his voice.

Dumbledore shrugged merrily. "Wait for him to change his mind, I suppose. Now, as for the rest of us--"

__

something red something falling a roaring in my ears catch it! catch it! the crowd will cheer you if you do move Chaser!

James was as surprised as anyone to find himself holding a single red feather in one hand. Fawkes made a low, throaty noise and left Sirius's head in favor of perching near the window. The group was silent for a moment. Then Dumbledore commented, "It seems his shedding period is beginning. That was his first feather, James. I should keep it if I were you."

"If you catch a phoenix feather before it hits the ground, it's almost as good as a wand, you know," Remus said, sounding acutely like a professor. 

The headmaster nodded. "Remus is right. That is the only method the Ollivanders use to collect theirs."

"Well, I'd like to see someone try and pluck a tailfeather from _that _bird," Sirius grumbled, rubbing his scalp where Fawkes's claws must have dug in. "He'd probably spear the nutters."

Dumbledore only smiled, and then announced, "To business, then, gentlemen. What have you learned?"

The four men sat down. Sirius and Remus exchanged looks; James sat staring at the phoenix feather. There was something very odd about the way it felt... almost like it was vibrating... but it was too slow to be a vibration... and it seemed familiar...

"Remus has a theory," Sirius said hesitantly.

"About...?"

"Stopping Voldemort," Remus stated.

All traces of amusement in Dumbledore's blue eyes vanished. They were now serious and thoughtful. The headmaster leaned forward on his desk. "Tell me about it."

"Well..." he began, almost unsure of how to proceed. "I've put this together from what people have been telling me recently, namely James and Harry. Well, Harry by was of Sirius, but anyway..." He cleared his throat. "I researched that spell Voldemort used to regain his powers. It's an ancient one, first documented in Gaul about seven thousand years ago. Several of the elements are extremely Celtic -- the use of blood, particularly from an enemy, is especially characteristic.

"The witch who developed it was called Uathach. The tale goes that Uathach had just taken a new lover, a Muggle warrior named Conall who often didn't know his own strength. Accounts differ. Some say he crushed her fingers while accepting a tray or a drink. Others..." Here he blushed slightly. "Others say that while the two were, um, making love, he... well, you can guess the rest." He cast an apologetic glance at his audience: apparently, sex wasn't something one talked about in front of Albus Dumbledore. But he remained unfazed, so Remus continued. "Any which way it goes, Uathach cried out. An old lover, another wizard called Maighread, heard her, and rushed in; and for all appearances, killed Conall."

James looked up, startled, at the storyteller. "Without asking any questions?"

Remus shrugged. "People were like that then.

"Anyway, Uathach had been extremely fond of Conall. The curse that had done away with him wasn't Avada Kedavra: that wasn't known in Britain until the first century B.C." Sirius rolled his eyes and mouthed "Professor!" at James, who smirked a little, but then ignored him. "This curse, which has since been lost to us, somehow severed the ties between the body and the spirit, much like what had happened to Voldemort." James expected himself to flinch, but surprisingly, he didn't.

"Uathach... for lack of a better word, bottled Conall's spirit in a cauldron, and set about trying to devise a way for his rebirth. No one knows how she did it -- there are no records of course; but she discovered a means of renewing the corporeal state with a transfer of blood via a specific medium of potions. She needed the remains of someone who didn't need a body anymore, so she included 'bone of the father'; she needed to prove her attachment to the person was real, so she sacrificed her right hand, and cut it off; and finally, she needed to give the spirit reason to come back. That's where the blood of the enemy comes in.

"Muggle stories about her -- and they do exist, in Ireland -- say that 'she turned her affections to the victor of the fight' because Maighread was more impressive than Conall. But that's simply not true: it was to get his blood. One night, she bled him, and then her potion was complete."

Here Remus leaned forward, and began tapping his splayed fingers together. "The interesting thing about this is, while it does give the spirit a body, this spell violates the most elemental nature of magic, and being human. Nothing is supposed to replace what you were born with, in that respect. What it does is create a being who supercedes humanity, who renounces it, and becomes something unnatural."

"That's not very reassuring," Sirius mumbled.

But the gleam had returned to Dumbledore's eyes. "So what you're saying is... Voldemort has effectively released himself from being human?"

Cautiously, Remus bent his head. "I'm theorizing. It would mean that we've been going about this in totally the wrong way. If this is correct, we have to treat Voldemort not so much as a living creature but as a force."

Sirius sprang to his feet. "And this is supposed to make us feel better?" he asked, anxiety knitting his brow. He began to pace. "What's so great about Voldemort being superhuman? Wouldn't it stand to reason that it makes him just a little more _invincible?! _Would someone please care to tell me?"

"It's a chink in the armor," Dumbledore explained excitedly. "It's very tight, but you can still get a knife under it..."

"Forces have laws, and constrictions," Remus elaborated. "Like with waves."

"With what?"

"Muggle physics. If two waves with the same wavelengths line up their crests and troughs, they'll cancel each other out. It's a law. That's the way nature works." He smiled a little. "The Muggles know more than we give them credit for."

"So if we just... found out what Voldemort was, we could apply the antithesis and he'd just... disappear?" James said slowly.

"That's altogether too simple," Sirius fumed. "There's no way it could be so uncomplicated."

"Occam's Razor," Remus disagreed, shaking his head. "The simplest answer is usually the right one."

Sirius snorted. "Maybe in the Muggle world... but it isn't often like that with us."

* * *

The man -- if he could be called that -- narrowed his serpentine eyes, displeased. "I am sure things are not very easy for you, in these present conditions. You have a very shady track record, Severus -- and that goes for both parties."

Severus Snape remained eerily still. "I am sure you understand, my Lord, that even as such, I am in a valuable position to serve you -- more than if I were dead or otherwise incapacitated."

The other wizard allowed a small smile to cross his face. "Ah yes, since we have lost our other servant within Hogwarts... Most unfortunate you are not so useful now, eh Wormtail?"

The man he'd addressed quivered in a dark corner. "M-most, my Lord."

"Perhaps Nagini will prove me wrong sometime soon," the wizard continued lazily. He turned his ruthless gaze back onto Snape. "I do hope _you_ will prove me wrong, as to the doubts I harbored about you, Severus. You did not answer my call this past month."

"My Lord, surely you understand that I had to keep up appearances, and that I could not Apparate off school grounds." He ventured a darting look upward. "I endured great pain to keep your secret safe, my Lord, that you did have a servant within Hogwarts still."

The wizard stroked his chin pensively. "You are feeding me very viable reasons to explain your absence from my side. Now, do I have any proof of your continued loyalty? Why should I trust you? For was it not the best friend of the Potters who lead them to their ultimate downfall?" In the corner, Wormtail winced, and began to whimper.

A muscle in Snape's face twitched. "Funny you should mention the Potters," he said. "My Lord, I have information regarding one."

* * *

Snape was still quaking and dry-heaving when Dumbledore arrived at his dungeon office. "Severus," he said, concerned, "what happened?"

"Cruciatus," he replied weakly. "I'll be fine in a few minutes. Please, will you get me an Ebbing Solution?"

Dumbledore did not ask where the pain killer was: he moved along the shelf on the wall quickly and expertly, and drew the small vial from among a collection of bottles near the top. Snape sat gasping on a stool, not even watching the Headmaster, just trying to make himself breathe normally again. "It's just as bad as I remember it," he croaked as Dumbledore tipped the vial and let some drops spill into a goblet of water.

"I am sorry you were subjected to that on my account," he said softly.

Snape shook his head. "I am in for much more pain than that; but I have much to atone for. I thank you for your sympathies, though."

Dumbledore presented him the goblet. "Speak only when you are ready. I am patient."

Gratefully, Snape downed the potion, and the two sat in silence for a few minutes. Then: "He wants to start his new campaign with Potter."

"With James? You didn't--"

Snape shook his head. "No, no. He still doesn't know. His rise. He wants to begin his next reign with the killing of Harry. It would be _symbolic_." He spat the last word.

Dumbledore nodded, thinking. "Yes, start where he couldn't at the Third Task..."

"I suspect..." the younger wizard began, then stopped. He tried again. "Voldemort is much more... attentive to irony now. Which I suppose is saying something. If we can plan on luring him out into the open at Halloween... we may have a chance."

"That doesn't give us much time... Remus, Sirius, and James are no further..." Snape made a brief expression of disgust, but quickly hid it.

"I saw the... the other one tonight. He seems to think that silver hand gives him power. It was quite pitiful to watch, really."

"If it is to be Halloween, we shall have to be careful," Dumbledore said. "It is the day before the full moon, and Remus may not be able to help."

Snape was silent.

Dumbledore stood up with a sigh. "Ah well... I shall leave you to recover, my friend. Get some sleep. We will speak more in the morning." 

After the old wizard left, Snape slumped, and let his head hang between his knees. The potion had been a good one -- well, _all_ of his were -- but the vestiges of the curse still swam through his body, burning. After ages of staring at the floor, listening to his head pound, Snape raised his eyes and studied his office through his hair. The soothing sound of boiling cauldrons coupled with the vapors penetrating his lungs did much to slow his heart down. He took a long, deep breath and sat up, and leaned his head back. 

This was much harder than last time. Last time he had had debts. James had saved him from _the monster_ when they were sixteen; when they were twenty-four, Severus had told the Potters they were the Dark Lord's next target. He had thought he was even; he thought he'd be free of James at last, even if his heart would always belong to Lily. But the Potters weren't the only ones betrayed by Wormtail, and Severus, as far as he was concerned, was only further entangled by obligation when they'd died. So he'd done his best by the boy, insufferable as he was. But that wasn't enough. Because James was still here -- no, here _again_ to collect his dues. 

Since James, as a stag, had come by a completely new body, none of the charms or potions were in place to change him back when the time came. Neither Sirius nor Remus could have done it: Severus had volunteered. Actually _volunteered_. No one else could have made it on such short notice.

And perhaps he'd felt a little freer after that. _But the freedom from debt isn't as good a feeling as you'd have thought,_ he thought bitterly as he ran a thick, heavy hand through his hair. _I don't know what to do with myself. I couldn't truly go back to Voldemort if I wanted to -- not now. Not since Dumbledore trusts me so much. _Still_. He always trusted me._

Damn that man and his luck! Why does Potter always get it all?

He then remembered that wasn't the case. He tried to imagine spending thirteen years without a body, or without being human. He tried to imagine being ripped from himself, and he shuddered. _Damn them. How could I ever top that? You're not in debt Severus, but you'll never be in more pain than they were._

And he thought about what he had told Voldemort, and what he had told Dumbledore. "Harry Potter will be vulnerable at Halloween," he'd said; "he always is."

And Voldemort had smiled, and Severus had never felt so cold before in his life.

X.

"...[A]ll things have conspired to your greatness. The rest is up to you."

Niccolò Machiavelli, _The Prince _

__

Truly have I conquered death now.

I have been to the borders of life itself, and have found myself on the asymptotes nearing obliteration -- but I pulled back, I won, I have the right to now laugh in its face! How few others in the world have that claim, or had it... No, there will never be a past tense for me, except in recounting the deeds I have done. Lord Voldemort only has a present, and a long, long future.

Or am I indeed unique? Flamel had an extension through alchemy, and even Merlin himself only exists buried beneath a rock somewhere. No, nobody else is as I am. I am alive, and I am **strong.** I have my wits and my powers about me: now that I have strength again, what is there to stop me? 

Finally I feel that I have lifted myself from the feeble confines of being merely human. Not even Dumbledore can claim that.

Now that I am not one of them -- if I ever really was -- they seem so much more insignificant. They are all ephemeral and petty now. Now that I will outlive them all.

They must know of me first, however. What better beacon to signal Lord Voldemort's return than the cold body of Harry Potter?

And then my days begin.

***

Lucius Malfoy was feeling irritable and tired. The Ministry -- no, not even them: Arthur Weasley was making trouble, and Lucius, from what he'd learned today, was going to have a bear of a time smoothing things over. Luckily Fudge still refused to hear mention of Voldemort's name, but that damned Muggle-lover had the ears of more people than the others might realize. The timeframe he was being forced to work with wasn't helping either: it was the end of August, and Voldemort wanted to have Harry Potter dead at Halloween. Much as he disliked to, Lucius would have to entrust some sensitive intelligence to Draco, a little earlier than he would have wanted to. After all, his son would be the best one to keep an eye on Potter for him.

He sighed, and leaned back in his chair, examining the plans of the Hogwarts grounds he still kept from his days as a school governor. The spells around the castle were always different, of course, but the grounds never changed too drastically. Lucius squinted as he poured over the periphery. _It would be so convenient to just get a Portkey to the boy, like last time. But he'll be so much more suspicious if he has a head on his shoulders, and we don't have anyone he'd accept that from inside the castle. _From what Draco said in his owls home, Potter and Snape got on almost as famously as Potter's father had. Lucius tried to imagine Draco somehow giving Potter the Portkey... but that would only incriminate his son. And the last thing he needed was trouble with Dumbledore.

Voldemort hadn't yet elaborated on when he'd like to take out Dumbledore and McGonagall. Lucius was a little surprised that he wouldn't be eager to have Snape run the school. He had received many assurances from Severus of his true feelings, as well as material confirmations. _A turncoat would never have supplied me with those Untraceable Poisons, or the Desiccation Mixture, which sucked all the water from whoever ingested it._

A timid knock on his study door distracted him. "Come in," he drawled, quickly rolling up the map. A house-elf -- Taffy or Tubby or something -- entered, eyes averted. "Master Lucius sir, is man with funny metal hand wishing to speak with you, sir."

Lucius arose. "Where is he?"

The house-elf backed away. "He just come through the fireplace in the kitchens, master sir, but he is making his way to the main hall, sir."

He scowled. "Bring him to the North Wing. I'll be in the conservatory."

"Yessir, rights away sir!" the elf squeaked, and disappeared behind the door. _Wormtail. With another message from Voldemort. Wonderful._ As Lucius swept out of the room, locking the door with a quick spell, he gritted his teeth. _Just what I need, on top of placating the Ministry, is placating Wormtail._

He Apparated mid-stride into the hallway outside the greenhouse. He pulled a heavy cloak from off a peg on the wall, wrapped it tightly around his shoulders, and Apparated inside. This particular greenhouse of Malfoy Manor was rare even among wizarding estates: it only housed plants which thrive in snow, darkness, and blizzard conditions. As soon as he was inside, Lucius relaxed a little as he felt the crunch of the snow beneath his boots, and the unnatural warmth rising from his face. With lazy, languid motions he patrolled the rows of plants on either side of him. His eyes began to adjust to the dimness. The Norwegian Seal Trap was doing well, although some of the spells on the artificial pond it inhabited were wearing off, and a scum of ice was crusting around the edges. The Fire Lichens were giving off a faint phosphoresce from the artful arrangement of rocks they clung to. Lucius secretly hoped Wormtail might appear on top of those, which injected miniscule needles into the skin which stung for hours afterward, until they dissolved.

He stopped in front of his favorite plant, a windswept Taiga Sprite. Only a few others existed domestically, and most of them were at Durmstrang. The Taiga Sprite was one of the only non-aggressive plants in this greenhouse. It resembled a willow, only much smaller -- about four feet tall; and its branches were stiffer and a little thicker. It looked as though constantly beleaguered by a strong current of air, and its leaves always rustled as though from a breeze. Every five years or so, the trunk begins to swell: eventually these swellings start to glow; and finally, at one point, they all shoot through the branches and explode out the ends in a show of fireworks. This is the plant's only opportunity for growth: at the end of the display, there are new stalks and leaves on the tree.

The first time he'd ventured into this particular greenhouse, he'd been six years old, and alone at the time. After wandering through the maze of venomous vegetation, he'd come face to face with the Sprite, and almost on cue, it had exploded. It was one of the most vivid and beautiful memories of his childhood. Lucius bent closer to the plant, to see if perhaps it might be coming soon. Draco had been about ten at the time... so perhaps...

His thoughts were interrupted as Wormtail Apparated a few feet behind him. Lucius's mouth sloped downward in distaste, and he slowly turned on his heel to face the other wizard. "Good evening, Peter. I trust you are well?"

He could always tell that Wormtail was unused to being called his given name, and that it still discomfited him. A small spark of pleasure arose in Lucius's chest: _anything to keep that pest from "asserting himself."_ Wormtail gulped, and his eyes darted around at their surroundings. He clutched his thin robes against his arms, and recoiled at the touch of his cold silver hand.

"Are you sure... do you think we could talk somewhere more... pleasant?"

"Surely whatever you have to say will not take long," Lucius replied maliciously. 

Wormtail shifted his weight, a bit defeated. "V-very well."

Lucius cut to the chase. "What does my lord require of me?"

"He... he says to tell you that he is... m-most eager to hear of your progress in... in -- cornering Potter. He wishes to tell you he has his plans formulated for the killing, and the... the display of his body. But he needs someone to deliver the boy, and he isn't comfortable... not knowing how's that's going to happen," he finished miserably.

Lucius frowned. "I can tell him nothing until _I _know something, and Draco does not leave for Hogwarts for two more days. Beg our master to be patient."

"My master says he does not wish to be patient, he desires to be ready."

Lucius watched as Wormtail tried to rub him upper arms and warm up. The silver hand appeared to be failing in that task. "Miss your old appendage, eh, Peter?" he whispered sibilantly.

Wormtail glared briefly at him. "It was worth it," he muttered. "Our master is back among us because of it."

"Indeed he is," Lucius continued smoothly. "Some of us wonder what he does with all his newfound time, seeing as we have not had direct contact with him for several weeks."

"That's his business and not yours," Wormtail replied, glaring. After a momentary pause, he shivered, and this time from other things than the cold. "And besides, you wouldn't want to see him now. He wouldn't be terribly kind."

"It is his place to tell me that and not yours," Lucius said calmly. "Now if you will excuse me, please inform our master that he must wait. And," he added, "if you are feeling particularly brave, you might inform him that some Death Eaters grow restless even now. He might contact them and persuade a certain number that patience is a virtue, especially when some of us are carefully laying plans they might foil with their impetuousness." _And give me some peace and quiet so I might get somewhere!_ he thought in exasperation, remembering last week's angry visit from Macnair.

Wormtail drew himself inward, in one last attempt to gather warmth. "Very well," he said, and with that disappeared. Lucius stood studying the space where the man had stood. He turned his attention to the hot breath rising from his mouth, watching the steam twist and writhe as it ascended roofward. After some moments' consideration, he headed back to the manor proper, to have words with his son.

~*~

_Eternal thanks to all who have and will review Prongs!  
Biggest of hugs to Adrienne Odasso, my incredible beta-reader. Go read her stories!! They're good for you. _

Stay tuned... 


	5. "...you might be ready."

XI.

__

"Come on, Sirius, when's this thing supposed to take?"

"Hold your horses, it'll come back to me in a second, I swear--"

"My poor frail frame can't take much more of this posing, Padfoot. Why don't you just--"

****

poof!

__

"Ow! Cripes, that's bright!"

"Er, let's try that again, this time with me_ in it!"_

"What, why do you want to ruin it?"

"You'll pay for that."

"Come on, it's starting up again!"

****

poof!

* * *

The evening of September third was much the same as the previous two nights at school. After dinner, the Gryffindor boys trooped up to the tower to grudgingly begin the evening's work. Harry and Ron parted company with Hermione in the common room, and climbed the winding staircase to their dormitories.

"Gah! Glad it's the weekend -- I could do with a breather to make my head stop spinning. What's Hermione on about, with Arithmancy being so great?"

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. "You know what she's like," he answered vaguely.

Ron muttered something under his breath about Hermione _always_ being a nutter about school, and how he'd never be able to make head or tail of the way she was. Harry smiled a little, and then blindly pushed open the door into their dormitory.

Neville and Dean were in there already, but they looked as though they were about to leave. They both said a pleasant hullo to Ron and Harry, and then Neville turned back to Dean, pleading. "I've _got _to have this Muggle Studies essay done by Monday, and I _still _don't understand it!"

"Well, you get Quidditch, don't you?" Dean asked.

"Pretty much," Neville muttered. They began to make their way out the door.

"Well, football isn't too different... I mean, apart from the no flying and such..." Harry heard Dean say as they wound their way downstairs and out of range. His attention turned back to its real focus a moment later, though -- what had been on his mind for most of the five weeks following his birthday. He walked over to the desk near his bed, bent over, and pulled open one of the drawers. Ron must have realized from Harry's closed expression that right now it would be best to leave him be, for Harry was alone in the room. Relieved, he pulled a thin, flat object from the drawer and sat down on his bed, examining it.

The picture frame was simple, and not terribly well-made. He imagined Sirius and Professor Lupin were a little tight on funds -- but the frame wasn't really the point. Harry focused his attention on the photograph.

Three men were posing in front of a bare face of peeling wallpaper. They were laughingly shuffling about, their arms hung about each other's shoulders. One was Sirius. He kept darting in and out of the picture, occasionally returning wearing a tea cozy or some other absurdity on his head. Another was Professor Lupin. For the past few days he'd been looking increasingly wary, but trying to enjoy himself. Today he had a drawn, weary expression on his face. Harry glanced out the window -- the moon was just beginning to wane. 

The third man stood on the right. He was thinner than the other two, even more so than Sirius. He laughed and joked with the other two, but his eyes were burning behind the glasses --- with what, Harry could only guess.

It was definitely the man he'd seen when he'd gone to try and talk with Sirius over the summer. The surreal, awful feeling surrounding the encounter hadn't left Harry. _It's me,_ he'd said. _Your father._

(James isn't here. Harry, isn't he with you?)

Harry closed his eyes. "It can't possibly be true," he whispered. "People don't just come strolling back from the dead after fourteen years." _Maybe I should ask Dumbledore. Maybe someone is trying to hurt me with this. Maybe it's Voldemort, trying to make me lose my head so I'm easier to get._

But why would an instrument of the Dark Lord arrive in a package of presents clearly originating from his godfather? It just didn't make any sense, all of it. _And if my dad really was alive, why wouldn't I be the first to know? Why wouldn't Dumbledore or Sirius come dashing in and tell me I'm not really an orphan anymore? No,_ he decided, _it's not true. You shouldn't even bother with it anymore. I'll bet this is another old picture, and... and they just looked older because they're tired, and they've been working hard. Fighting Voldemort. My mum is _(was)_ probably taking the picture, that's why they're all being so ridiculous._

He looked back down at the picture, to justify his rationale, and jumped, with a gasp.

The third person had broken away from the group, and was larger, like he'd come closer. He was peering up through the photograph, trying to catch Harry's attention. Harry dropped the photo, and scooted back a little over his sheets. The man raised his right hand and pressed it against the surface of the picture, as though it was a glass window. His eyes burned right into Harry's, and he understood the expression now. _I miss you._

Harry's chest heaved for a few seconds, and then the boy grabbed the photo and stuffed it back in the drawer. He sat, knees hugged tight against his chest, and tried to make his breath slow down. His face was hot and wet, and he realized he must be crying. Angry with himself, he fiercely rubbed away the tears and rolled off the bed. He left the room and the picture behind, to try and distract himself with his friends.

* * *

"Remus, I don't know what you're on about, but I swear, with all your brains and all your experience, you're still a raving lunatic."

Remus frowned at Sirius, and tried again. "I know it's been hard, and I know you're frustrated, but I think this might be a way. We've only got until Halloween, you know. Then we've got to use whatever we've got, no matter how... cockeyed and impossible it might be."

Sirius snorted. "Well, you've got a pretty good one here. A fine candidate for defeating the most evil wizard on the face of the earth!"

Remus turned desperately to James. "Look, you see what I'm saying, don't you? Does it make _any_ sense?"

The plan was shaky at best. Remus had been scouring the mildewed library at Glastonbury for weeks, Apparating there early in the morning and only returning well into the night. He would come home with armloads of books, excitedly asking James and Sirius what they thought of his latest scrap of information. He seemed truly intent on finding a precedent for their situation -- "After all, Voldemort isn't the only one in history who's sacrificed his humanity. There must be _some_body before us who figured out a way to get rid of him." He had brought back some truly interesting stories, but this one seemed the most fantastic of all. James was having a hard time reconciling the idea that it might actually have happened.

Remus had discovered an old Irish tale about a Dark wizard named Balor, and his monstrous followers, known as Formorii. He, like Voldemort, had undergone many destructive and dangerous transformations in order to gain power and immortality. For one of them, he acquired a "poisonous eye, which was instant death for whomever it rested upon." None of his opponents, who called themselves the Tuatha de Danaan, could have stood a chance. ("Great," Sirius had commented, "Ocular Avada Kedavra. Wouldn't Mad-Eye Moody love that.")

However, a young de Danaan wizard called Lleu devised a plan. He convinced others to invest a certain power in him, a spell only described as the Solaris Charm. He then blindfolded himself -- or closed his eyes, or even temporarily blinded himself ("Accounts differ," Remus had said apologetically) -- and approached Balor. Balor's eye couldn't affect someone who couldn't see, and so Lleu was able to perform his spell, which the books described as "a powerful light emanating from Lleu's person, and rendering Balor's sight useless." While Balor was blinded, Lleu's best friend, Lamfadha, took the butt of a spear and shoved it into Balor's socket. That forced the poisonous eye backward, turning the effect on Balor himself and on the Formorii.

"And did Lleu get his sight back?" James asked.

Remus nodded. "But that's not what I'm driving at. The de Danaan turned Balor's strength against himself. Think how many things we could turn against Voldemort!"

"When I know that he'd probably make full use of them before we had a chance to, it makes me feel a good deal better," Sirius said acidly.

James felt helpless as he watched Remus wilt a little in the face of Sirius's logic. "Look Remus, it's... it's a fine idea. But I can't begin to tell you what we'd be able to turn against Voldemort himself, not to mention how we might do it."

Remus wasn't accepting defeat, however. "I'm going back through the archives tomorrow, to see if I can put together a full catalogue of Voldemort's powers. He's got to have something we can use against him."

"What if there isn't? If we're on the wrong track, we've only got a few weeks before he strikes."

Remus stood up and looked Sirius straight in the eye. "I'm the only one of us who's able to go out and look for clues. You," he said, nodding at James, "are a secret, and you," he turned back to Sirius, "will have the dementors on you in a second if you set foot in public. I may be a werewolf, but they can't legally keep me out of the libraries."

He shook his head quickly. "And anyway, we're not alone on this. Arthur Weasley and his son Bill are acting as contacts for the Ministry and Gringotts both -- we've got their resources on tap. Snape is giving us valuable information from the other side. And we've always got Dumbledore." He turned his clear gray eyes on his two friends. "I'm confident we can do this," he said quietly. "We just need to keep on thinking."

* * *

Severus Snape was versed enough in his art to know that combining two volatile solutions will often result in an explosion. Nonetheless, he had to find a way to make the younger Malfoy let something slip. Severus _knew_ Lucius was feeding the boy information: he had a feeling Malfoy would use his son as bait to get Harry to Voldemort. For there was no one else to be trusted with the job inside Hogwarts. Draco was still young and impressionable, and besides, his rivalry with Harry was fabled in the halls of the school. He'd take any opportunity to kick Potter, and the harder the blow, the better.

"Partner up," he said silkily one afternoon after a lesson on Eloquence Elixirs. Very deliberately, he added, "Potter, you go with Malfoy. Perhaps enough time together and you'll learn some civility." Draco smirked, but didn't catch the double jibe, assuming it was aimed solely at the Gryffindor. Severus bent his head and pretended to be grading the Sixth Years' exams on Surface Stripping Solutions. He cringed as he listened to Longbottom whine through yet another lab, trying to solicit Granger's help, per usual. Parkinson and Nott were obviously too busy making eyes at each other to be mixing potions. Crabbe and Goyle were muttering to each other, a clear signal that they were both lost without Malfoy. 

Malfoy and Potter were, so far, surprisingly silent. Or rather, Malfoy ordered Potter to powder the campion stems or stir the base brew, and Potter ground his teeth and endured. Severus kept his ears open for a break in the monologue. He was rewarded ten minutes before the end of the lesson.

"Tisk, tisk, Potter, you're _mangling_ those badger claws."

Silence from the Gryffindor.

Severus chanced a glance up. Malfoy was smirking at Potter: his eyes were narrowed, with a malicious glint in them. "Speaking of badgers, been getting ready for your Quidditch match next week? But I guess Hufflepuff will be a pushover as usual -- what have you got to worry about?"

Potter's jaw tightened. He finished with the badger claws and added them to the potion. He reached for their supply of jellied salmon eggs. 

Draco lowered his voice. "Oh that's right, new Seeker this year. It's the Mudblood, Finch-Fletchley, isn't it?"

Potter closed his eyes.

"Going to be a rough season for them, I'd say," Malfoy drawled on. "What, with losing the Seeker _and _Captain, they haven't got much of a chance against the Gryffindor power house, do they."

"Drop it, Malfoy," Potter said quietly, a tight quality to his voice Severus had never heard before.

Draco seemed maliciously amused. "Ah yes, the still-fresh wounds of the Third Task. Very touching, to see you so concerned about Diggory--"

"I said _drop it."_ The classroom went suddenly still. All eyes surreptitiously turned toward the ill-matched pair. Draco had a poisonous tone as he pushed further.

"Have I said something amiss?" he murmured sarcastically.

"You know damn well what you've just said."

Draco affected offense. "It's a free country, isn't it?"

Potter was silent.

"Still _love-sick _and _jealous_, Potter?" he hissed. "Never get the chance to be alone with Chang now, will you--"

Severus raised his head. Potter had abandoned all pretense of concentration, and was glaring daggers at Draco. "Shut it Malfoy, I'm warning you." Severus had never heard his voice so dangerous. He took that opportunity to sweep up from his desk and hover behind their table.

"Finished, boys?" he interrupted smoothly. The two enemies fell silent. Severus leaned forward and stirred the elixir a little. "Too chunky," he pronounced. "Better luck next time." He moved on, pretending to examine Nott and Parkinson's mixture. But his ears were sharp: as he leaned closer to the cauldron, seemingly absorbed in the Eloquence Elixir, Draco spoke one last time.

"It's Samhain Tuesday next. You know -- Halloween, the night the spirits walk. I'm sure if there's any unfinished business between you and Diggory you'll be able to sort it out with him then."

* * *

Remus checked his watch. "Should be coming through right now," he murmured to himself. A few moments later, there was a soft _pop!_ and then someone knocked on his front door. Sirius was standing by, and opened the door. A tall, lithe redhead sporting a ponytail and an earring slipped inside. He shot Sirius and Remus a grin and offered his hand.

"Mr. Black! Professor Lupin! Glad to finally and formally meet you!"

Remus gave a slight smile as he accepted the handshake. "Please, just Remus is fine."

Sirius affected an air. "I don't know, I sort of like being called 'Mr. Black.' Makes me sound respectable."

From behind, James snorted as he entered the room. "You've never been respectable, Padfoot. You might as well stop trying." He saw the newcomer and introduced himself. "And you must be--"

"Bill Weasley, at your service," he finished roguishly. The next instant, however, he was sober. "Dumbledore's told me everything. I've brought the device."

Sirius nodded. "Excellent. Let's see it."

Remus gestured toward the kitchen table. "Shall we sit down?"

The four men took their seats. Bill reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small silver box encrusted with bulky jewels. He began to set it on the table, then stopped himself midway. He glanced at Remus. "It won't... hurt or anything if I set it here, will it?"

Remus was frowning slightly, and biting his lip. The silver would leave traces on the table for hours, but he didn't want to say anything. James read his expression and interjected, "I'll hold it." Remus shot him a quick, grateful expression, and they continued.

Bill swung the top open: it was slightly stiff, and the hinge creaked. He dipped his fingers into a dark velvet lining, and lifted out a necklace. It was a chain of fine gold filigree from which hung a pendant of a green, spotted mineral. "Black Sea green amber," Bill explained. "Nothing beats it for a honing medium. This is called a namyasto: Slavic wizards have been using it for centuries. It came via post this morning. I don't know how to work it, but my contact who does will be here on Monday."

James squinted at it. "How does it work? What's the principle?"

Bill furrowed his brow. "I'm not terribly clear on the exact method, but I know it involves ley lines. This pendant --" he gestured with the necklace -- "sends out a very specific signal; I think it comes from the vibrations in the fabric of the amber itself. It's got a brother apparatus made of the same stone; it operates on the exact same wavelength, and therefore only tracks its twin. The tracking devise will zero in on its identical signal, and show the location with regards to the pendant's local ley lines. It's extremely sensitive -- it operates on a distance of up to five hundred miles, and it'll give a location to within a couple centimeters."

Remus frowned. "Is there any chance of interference? Can someone mess with the wavelength?"

Bill shook his head. "It would be more difficult than any one wizard could manage. Nobody can change ley lines: they're a natural force. It would be like trying to change the ocean.

"As for interference, I see where you're going. There's not much to worry about there too. See, ley maps look like a grid, and they operate by showing distortions where magic is strongest. In Giza, for instance, most of the town shows up as straightforward squares, with minute wobbles here and there. But the pyramids and the Sphinx throw everything out of whack: they appear as huge, greatly condensed bulges. Things get hairier in those spots, but the namyasto will still work. One of these found Matteo Bartolomei in the Galilee, and considering the magic in that area, that's no small thing. The only places in Britain I imagine would give us any trouble at all are Stonehenge and Hogwarts, and I doubt Voldemort will be waiting there. Too obvious."

Bill looked around the table. "Voldemort won't take you somewhere convenient and easy, like the Cliffs of Dover or Diagon Alley: it's likely you'll find yourself in a place like the Outer Hebrides, or Cornwall. As soon as your signal changes, we'll be running a search on you, narrowing down your location. Once we find you we'll contact Dumbledore, the Aurors, and my father, to let them know where you are. After that, we'll Apparate to within a mile of your location. If you're in trouble, we'll get backup." He leaned forward, a touch of curiosity in his face. "What is your strategy, anyway? It would be best if we know what to expect."

Remus glanced at Sirius, who in turn looked at James, who had suddenly become lost staring at the space immediately in front of him. Remus cleared his throat. "We're going to exploit Voldemort's strength. We're going to take his greatest power and reflect it, and turn it against him."

"And which one would that be?" Bill asked, stunned.

Sirius sighed. "We don't know yet. The more we investigate, the worse they get."

"Now come on, Sirius, we've got one big one: he's not human anymore."

Sirius merely shook his head and looked away.

"Why is it you guys are beholden to face him on Halloween?" Bill inquired. "I mean, you don't seem that hopeful, if you'll pardon my saying."

"Why?" James repeated, his eyes coming back into focus. "Because Snape told Voldemort Harry would be vulnerable on Halloween. Because that's the date Voldemort has been using to plan with for killing my son. And because if we don't resist at all, then I will have lived for nothing." He turned his gaze on Bill: it was calm, but serious, and very intense. "We can't not," he said quietly. "We do it because we must."

Bill Weasley did not look away: instead, he nodded. Then, "Who will wear the namyasto?"

James started to speak, but Sirius interrupted him. "I will," he said quickly. James and Remus were a bit taken aback. Sirius eyed them fiercely. "I've spent the whole time being a pundit and shooting down ideas. I might as well make use of myself."

"Sirius--" Remus began, half a protest and half a placation.

Sirius held up a hand. "No, I don't want to hear it Moony. Please, just let me wear it. I want to."

Bill left ten minutes later, with a solemn shake of the hand to each, and the words, _"Tu ne cede malis sed contra audentior ito."_ He then flashed a quick smile, and Apparated away.

The three men stood staring at the spot where he had been for a few moments. Then Sirius cleared his throat and asked, "My Latin's a little rusty. What was that he just said to us?"

"'Yield not to misfortunes,'" Remus translated, "'but advance all the more boldly against them.'"

There was another pause among them. James blurted, "I wish Lily were here."

Sirius and Remus exchanged awkward glances. "We all do," Remus said quietly.

"He's fifteen now," James continued, only half speaking to them. "I hope I get to see him soon. Before Halloween. Just in case--" He stopped, and began examining the silver box, which he still held_._

Sirius, Remus, and James caught each other's eye; a mutual resolution passed among them. They returned to their work with a quiet, desperate fervor.

* * *

No one at the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match knew quite how to behave. It was the first game in more than a year, yet the events that had passed in between...

It opened with a long moment of silence, lead by Professors Sprout and Dumbledore. When Harry lifted his heavy head, he saw Justin Finch-Fletchley hanging in midair just across the mid-field line. He had a haunted look about him as well: replacing him must be hard; most of the Hufflepuffs had hero-worshipped Cedric, the first one to bring glory to their house in centuries. Hovering a few yards behind, his head still bowed, was Ernie Macmillian, one of the new Beaters. Harry heard his voice behind his ear, a memory from this season last year: _"Only a week away? I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him..."_ They had all been examining the announcement concerning the Welcoming Feast.

__

How do I have the right to compete against these people? Harry thought wretchedly. _How can either one of us win without hurting the other? Whose idea was this anyway...? _He half-heard Madame Hooch's whistle, and he clumsily tipped his broom upwards and shot out of the path of the Chasers. Once above the fray, he drifted back and forth, feeling like a snorkeler observing a frenzied coral reef. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Justin fly by. Harry turned to watch him. Justin had a scared, determined expression on his face, scouring the field for the Snitch like his life depended on it. He sped straight past Harry, as though forcing himself not to look at him.

Harry felt he could barely concentrate. His train of thought ran wild, any little things triggering a memory. Too many old conversations kept speeding through his head: _"Going to be a rough season for them, I'd say. What, with losing the Seeker _and _Captain..."_

"I know I owe you one for telling me about the dragons."

"I'm not armed. There's not a thing I can do to hurt you."

"Well... I s'pose we'd better go on..."

A particularly loud exclamation from the crowd jolted Harry out of his thoughts for an instant. It seemed Ernie Macmillian had accidentally let a Bludger go past, knocking both Katie Bell and Hufflepuff Chaser Anwar Kassatly off their brooms. Harry cursed himself, and tried to make himself pay attention to the game. _That could have been you; keep an eye on the Bludgers! What would Wood say if I let myself get knocked out by one of those?_

"That's twice you've saved my neck in here."

please oh please let me stop thinking about him

__

"Harry... you'll be all right... hold on..."

Mum and the face that was supposed to be there--

****

stop it! concentrate! look for gold!

Harry had no idea how much time had passed since the start of the game: he glanced towards the scoreboard; Gryffindor was ahead, 30 to 10. His mind traveled back to the World Cup final, when Viktor Krum caught the Snitch yet lost the game. _Maybe I could let it be like that,_ he thought fleetingly. _Then we'd both win, in a way._

"Both of us."

"What?"

"We'll take it at the same time. It's still a Hogwarts victory..."

Harry's vision began swimming. Something shining was flitting about ten feet in front of him.

__

"Stop being noble. Just take it, then we can get out of here."

The roar of the crowd flooded his ears again. He looked up to see Justin Finch-Fletchley barreling toward him. The Snitch shot upward, and then began flying towards Harry. Harry put out his hand in a desperate attempt to wave it away, to send towards Justin. "Go on!" he yelled at the small winged ball.

__

"You may go if you wish..."

"Just take the cup!"

Harry's arm swatted downward again. Something solid hit his palm. Harry watched Justin's face fall, and the other Seeker swerved away, towards the ground. "No!" he tried to call. "I didn't mean to!"

__

"He didn't realize what had happened... But they won fair and square... even Wood admits it."

Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat as Fred and George flew up on either side of him and congratulated him. He did not reply: he only shook his head and allowed them to escort him to the ground. The crowds were cheering; everything should feel normal about this; yet all that was in Harry was a leaden sense of regret and despair.

Time stopped existing: everything blurred together. When Harry landed, his legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. Justin was the nearest: he rushed over to help Harry up. Harry shook his head and thrust the Snitch towards him.

__

"Just take it..."

Justin looked from the Snitch to Harry, and then sighed. "Just forget it," he said. "C'mon, stand up, Harry."

__

"You're on. Come here."

"I'm sorry," he rasped to Justin. "It should have been you."

XII.

__

Snape kept his head bowed, unsure exactly why he wasn't shaking. From the shadows he heard the rustling of someone leaning back in a throne-like seat. "The incentive is very simple," a cold, amused voice hissed through the darkness. "Either Potter dies or you do, Severus. I don't believe knowing much more than that is necessary." When Snape didn't answer, Voldemort laughed, a black, humorless sound. "Very good, then. I have yet one more job -- or hurdle -- for you. A most invaluable service you will perform for me, Severus. Give it to him, Wormtail."

The diminutive, rodent-like man shuffled forward and roughly thrust a small round object into Snape's field of vision. Without raising his eyes, Snape took the object. It was ring-shaped, and the texture seem to indicate it was made of wood. He brought the ring closer, to examine it. A thin bluish plasma was undulating within the rim. He gave a sharp intake of breath.

"Very good, Severus," Voldemort chuckled dryly. "Yes indeed, you hold in your hand an Aperio talisman. There aren't very many of them left in the world. Luckily a Scandinavian contact procured this most excellent specimen for me. Wormtail," he said abruptly, "are you aware of this ring's capabilities?"

"N-no, my Lord," he answered, his voice quavering.

Snape could feel Voldemort's gaze descend back on him. "Do enlighten our friend, Severus."

"It is a forerunner of the Portkey; it rips through temporal space and creates a shortcut to any place in the world," Snape answered cooly, secretly marveling at his self-control. "At an appointed time, the æther inside will expand, and the ring will grow until it is large enough for a person to pass through. On the other side lies a new location." He repressed a shudder: he had been toying with the idea of just keeping the ring safe in his pocket, well away from Potter. But the thought of being Splinched in so primitive and irreversible a way quailed him.

Snape could feel Voldemort's smile cut through the air. "I see you realize how well you have bound yourself to us. Ah, self-preservation: there _is the sole incentive you need in this situation, Severus." A heavy pause hung in the air. "Look at me, Severus." Snape slowly obeyed. The Dark Lord's red serpentine eyes were glowing, narrowed, through the dimness. "Just make sure Potter has it and knows how to use it before midnight come Tuesday. If my Halloween is spoiled, then you and only you will answer to me for it." The eyes receded; he must have leaned back into his chair. "Dismissed," he said sibilantly._

Snape bowed. "My Lord," he said, feeling the words rumble distastefully at the bottom of his ribcage. The sunless room disappeared as he Apparated away: Snape found himself near the gates of Hogwarts. He squinted against the setting sun, towards the Quidditch pitch: the games was still going on. He was safe. He hurried through the gates after giving the password, and retreated, crow-like, across the grounds, up the front stairs, and safely into his dungeons.

* * *

That had been three hours ago. Now he was bent over his desk, rolling the ring between his thumb and index finger. _I must rob him of his battle plan,_ he told himself. _Anything to aid Potter, Black, and the werewolf. _He allowed a small, ironic smile to visit his lips at the statement. He then quickly returned to the subject at hand.

His brain was a complete blank for an instant: he could not force anything across the desperate void he felt. He was never without a plan, and he always knew how to get the information he needed. _The information... Malfoy._

Already with a clear idea of his strategy, he swept out of his office and toward the Slytherin common room. He found it mostly empty: Malfoy was nowhere in sight. One thin, dark-haired boy with thin, hunched shoulders was bent over some homework at one of the tables. Snape recognized him: Malcolm Baddock, second year. Very resentful boy; very talented at Charms and Transfiguration. "You there," he said smoothly. Baddock whipped around and looked up. He stood instantly.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked quietly.

"Get me Malfoy," Snape ordered. "Keep his cronies away, and for God's sake keep this room empty."

Baddock eyed him distrustfully, but simply and quietly replied, "Yes, Professor." He gathered up his parchment and book, and hurried toward the boys' dormitories. Snape surveyed the room, looking for the most private yet imposing spot for them to converse. In the end, he decided on the table Baddock had just relinquished. He settled into the leather-bound chair, and waited.

Malfoy came, alone, a few minutes later. Snape noted Baddock to himself: _fearless, to dare rouse and disturb Draco._ Malfoy recognized him, smirked, and swaggered over to the table. Snape indicated with his eyes for him to take the seat across from him. When Draco had gotten comfortable, Snape rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. He spoke in a low, soothing voice, allowing an urgent edge to slip in as well.

"Now Draco, I'm sure you've realized that your father and I have been in very close contact these past few months. But what am I thinking?" He smiled silkily. "Of course. I was fortunate enough to visit your family at the manor this summer." Draco nodded, looking slightly bored. "Your father has informed me that he trusts you a great deal, Draco. Now, I need you to help us both. You are, of course, aware of what will happen this Halloween?"

The boy smiled, a cold, delighted glint in his eye. "Of course," he answered. "The Dark Lord is planning a strike against Potter--" He stopped suddenly. He narrowed his eyes. "I don't think I should be telling you this," he said suspiciously. "If you're really on our side, why wouldn't you know about all this already?"

"Don't be silly, boy -- you know where my loyalties lie. That Dessication Mixture would never have come from a man with weak allegiances." Secretly Snape was pleased that the boy was displaying some sense. He was prepared, however. "I simply need some corroboration of facts. Of course I know. Here..." He reached within his voluminous robes, and withdrew the Aperio talisman. Draco's eyes widened. "Ah, I see you know your Dark objects as well as could be expected," Snape smiled. "I hardly need imply that this is meant for Potter." He met Draco's eyes, and did not look away. "Now do you trust me?" Malfoy nodded. "Good," Snape nearly purred, preparing to lay thick the flattery.

"What I need to be sure of are Voldemort's plans for the other side of the Aperio door. Your father is very close to the Dark Lord, and will be aware of all his plans. Tell me, what do you know about Potter's fate?"

Draco leaned forward, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial softness. "Well, Father hasn't told me a lot. Most of it I've figured out from listening to him talk. It sounds like -- _Voldemort _has to kill Potter to achieve top power. He said something about how that would catalyze Potter's blood within him. And he mentioned the Cineris Suspiro Curse." The slightest of apologetic expressions entered Draco's eyes. "But that's all I really know."

Snape froze. _That? But of course... if what Lupin says is true, it only makes sense. Well. _At least he had a name for it now. But he forced himself to nod approvingly, and say, "Very well, Draco, I thank you. You've just helped me a great deal."

Unbidden, Draco pushed away from the table and stood up. "Professor," he asked, a note of genuine curiosity in his voice, "what exactly is this curse?"

Snape narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. "I believe you will find the answer much more satisfying if you discover for yourself." _Yes, and perhaps you'll have the humanity to be horrified by it and forget this "junior Death Eater" nonsense. _He leaned closer, a strange smile playing about his lips. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy -- wouldn't knowing the method of Potter's death make the event so much more sweet?"

A conflict of emotions flashed across Draco's face. Dutifully he answered, "I take your point, Professor." He adopted an ingratiating tone. "May I go to the library, then?"

Snape withdrew a piece of parchment and signed it. "Most likely it will be described in the Restricted Section," he said, handing the scrap to Malfoy. "Thank you again, Draco. You've been most invaluable." Draco smiled again, if a little uneasily, and departed.

The professor slumped back in his chair. _Cineris Suspiro! _It was so ancient and obscure it would be a wonder if Malfoy came across any mention of it. But then again, Lupin had said Voldemort's spell to return to his body was quite old itself. _Cineris Suspiro..._ Snape bowed his head, and then sprang up. He needed to speak to Dumbledore immediately about this.

* * *

"Er... Harry? You all right?"

Harry rolled over on his bed and sighed. "Please, Ron. Just leave me alone."

The boy on the other side of the drawn curtains paused for an instant, and then slowly the sound of his footsteps left the dormitory, cut off completely by the careful but firm shutting of the door. Harry lay in the loneliness and silence, thinking nothing, for an instant. _What a hard day,_ he finally found himself saying.

**__**

-- be a rough season --

No! Harry snarled in his head. _You are not going to think about that! _

****

Ah yes, the still-fresh wounds of--

Shut it, you!

****

"It's a free country, isn't it?"

Harry burrowed himself forcefully in his blankets. _Damn that Malfoy! How is it he **always** gets under my skin?? Why do I let him get my goat like that...?_

****

"Better luck next time." 

-- Samhain Tuesday next -- unfinished business --

A strangled cry welled up in Harry's throat. He fought to suppress it, but he had fallen victim to the trap, and was helpless before the memories his brain chose to conjure up. 

**__**

-- haven't got much of a chance against --

-- for telling me about the dragons --

Cedric... he moaned. 

****

"I'm sorry. It should have been you."

__

-- shouldn't have --!

****

-- do you understand, Harry?

No! he cried to his mother. _Why am I in Hell?! What is it I've done?_

****

-- we're locked in against --

Oh God no not that not him please don't do that to me

****

-- I have spent more than my fair share of time --

"I have no need to tell Professor Dumbledore about my nightmares." 

__

-- a vast looming blackness, and lying before it is Cedric Diggory --

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "Expecto patronum," he desperately whispered between his teeth, feeling himself begin to shake.

__

My Patronus --

****

-- if you were really my dad, Prongs could keep Moony away --

(Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers)

The faintest of impressions flitted through Harry's memory. _Up, down, up, down, shriek, giggle, coo, laugh. "My little Marauder. Maybe one day you'll be a Chaser like your dear old dad."_

****

"And oh! Hufflepuff Beater Macmillian misses the Bludger, sending Chasers Kassatly and Bell spinning--"

A woman's voice: _"--for Beater."_

That same voice: _"James isn't here."_

No please not that one again...

You've got to stop this, a new voice suddenly said, breaking through the turbulence of emotions. It was the same voice that fought the Imperius Curse, that had told Harry he was not going to die crouched behind a tombstone that night, that he would die upright _(like his father)..._

Harry forced himself upright, and sat still on his bed, for what seemed a long time. He was sweating: _I need a drink of water,_ he thought distractedly. Shakily he swung his body to the side, ready to vacate the bed, when an impulse came over him. He stood up and slowly moved toward his desk. He opened a drawer, and withdrew a bound, red leather photo album.

Looking through Hagrid's gift always calmed him down. He sat down at his desk and began leafing haphazardly through the pages. He began to relax as he studied the pictures of his parents. They looked so happy, so young. He thought back to Sirius: _how haggard he looked now_. He imagined he might be getting better with Professor Lupin, though, now that he wasn't living on the run, exposed to the elements and never sure of his next meal. Harry wondered vaguely what had become of Buckbeak.

He stopped at one page with a graduation picture: a jubilant, carefree photo. He smiled as Sirius, Professor Lupin, and his dad began to can-can, all in their formal robes. Wormtail was a little removed to the side, watching and giggling helplessly. The dance soon got out of control, however, and Sirius toppled the group as he overbalances. Harry laughed aloud, as the Marauders collected themselves and beamed appreciatively at him. Professor Lupin said something to his dad, who looked thoughtful at the comment. He broke away from the group and pressed his face up against the surface, studying Harry's face. All breath left Harry: he stared, wide-eyed, as James Potter peered up through the past and at him.

"People don't just come strolling back from the dead after fourteen years," he remembered himself saying. Harry furrowed his brow. _It can't be true._

(but what if--?)

"It can't be true," he said aloud, but his voice quavered.

_Maybe I should ask Dumbledore. _

(why? you've got all you need, all your proof is in--)

Almost as though in a trance, Harry opened another drawer, and slid a large, flat from it. He began shaking again as he moved the birthday picture closer to the graduation photo. Slowly he set the frame down over the page (taking care to cover up Wormtail): they were now side by side.

He looked from one, to the other, and back to the first. "It can't be," he said aloud again, but this time it came more forcedly, and with more of a quaver. 

__

Listen to me you know what you see listen to me Harry Potter listen--

Harry closed his eyes, as though waiting for a blow.

****

It's the same man,he finished.

"Oh God," he said, and pressed his hand against his mouth.

* * *

Ron furrowed his brow, his eye set past Hermione and on the stairwell leading to their room. "He's been up there an awfully long time," he said with concern.

Hermione looked up from her History of Magic essay. "D'you suppose he's all right?"

Ron shook his head slowly, not removing his gaze from the door. "He's been off all year. Ever since... well, you know... And he won't tell me anything!" he burst out indignantly. "His best friend and he can't even confide in me..."

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione murmured as she turned back to her parchment.

He looked at her sharply. "What? I think I've got a right to know why my friend is so depressed! I don't like it, just sitting here while he fritters away in his bed. It's dead worrisome, it is."

She met his eye. "Don't you think I've been worried too? _Nobody's_ ever seen him like this. He doesn't even enjoy Quidditch anymore! And he can't have heard anything about You-Know-Who, or he would have told us. It has to be something else."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. "Cedric, probably. I think he still feels terrible about the Third Task. And people haven't forgotten what happened: they're still avoiding him in the halls. It can't be very pleasant, now can it?"

"Yeah, but--" Ron sputtered, "but he's got us!"

__

"I think he ought to go to Professor McGonagall, or Dumbledore perhaps. It's obviously really serious. Something ought to be done."

"Once again: like what? You can't force Harry to do something like that, and every time we ask him what's wrong he won't answer. How d'you help somebody like that?"

Hermione looked pensive. "At the library in my town, there are all sorts of books about psychology and helping people through problems. I'm sure wizards have the same type of thing. And surely Hogwarts has a few books that aren't about magic..."

Ron looked slightly mutinous at the mention of books as a solution. "When in doubt, go to the library," he muttered.

Hermione looked up. "What was that?"

"Nothing!" he replied innocently. "Just... thought you'd better go soon, since it's almost curfew."

Hermione stood, and gathered up her homework. "I think I will," she said. "I'll see you at ten then, alright?"

"'Kay," he answered. He was soon alone with his Arithmancy homework -- which he only too late realized was the reason he'd asked Hermione to be with him in the first place.

* * *

As it was nine-thirty on a Sunday night, the corridors of Hogwarts were fairly deserted. Hermione knew the route to the library so well she could have done it with her eyes closed: therefore, she paid little attention to her surroundings, concentrating instead on figuring out where to find the proper volumes.

The pair of hands shot of out a dark corner and jerked her into a side room before she even realized it. She tried shrieking, but one palm was pressed firmly against her throat; the other arm was clenched tightly about her waist. "Don't move, don't scream, just _listen _to me!" came a harsh, urgent whisper above her ear. "This is important, and it's all true. I don't mean to hurt you, but this is the only way you'll listen. Do you promise you won't struggle?"

Hermione was so shocked she nodded. The voice began flooding her ear with words. "You've to tell Potter he's in great danger -- the worst fate in the world. On Halloween Voldemort is going to get him away from Hogwarts and... and do something, _terrible_ to him. _You've got to keep him away from Snape._ Snape is a Death Eater: he's helping Voldemort get to Potter from the inside. Don't trust him at any cost!"

She could barely understand what he meant. "Wh... what are you telling me?" she rasped, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets with fear.

"He's going to give Potter a ring, only it's not a ring, it's a kind of Portkey -- an Aperio talisman. And it's going to take Potter somewhere at midnight and Voldemort will be waiting with an audience to kill him properly this time."

"K-kill him?" she repeated shakily.

"Well, he's not asking him over for a friendly game of Quidditch, now is he?" the voice snarled.

Hermione's mind was racing. One part of her refused to believe this was happening, and the other was wondering if she could trust this strange informer. "What is You-Know-Who going to... going to do?" she asked, terrified of the answer.

He told her. She gasped, and her knees buckled. "You see?" he hissed. "You see what I mean? You've got to keep him _safe!"_

"What to do you want me to do?" she whispered.

"Do something about the ring! Go to Dumbledore! Lock Potter in his room! I don't know -- you're supposed to be the genius, Granger."

Hermione suddenly recognized her assailant. She wriggled and wrenched herself out of his grasp. In the half light streaming in through the thin slit of the door shone a head of pale hair and two hard gray eyes. "Now, get away from me, Mudblood," said Draco uncomfortably; "I've touched you enough to last me my whole life."

* * *

Ron heard footsteps as he packed up his homework. He turned around, and was surprised and glad to see Harry. "There you are!" he exclaimed. "What took you so long?"

Harry had a strange and agitated expression on his face. He was carrying the Invisibility Cloak. "I have to go see Dumbledore," he said vaguely, as though he couldn't quite believe it himself.

"Dumbledore?" Ron repeated incredulously. "Why?"

"It's important," Harry answered, and moved past him towards the exit.

"Hold up! I'm coming too!" Harry stopped, and turned to look at his friend. Ron had a look of unwavering determination in his stance. "You've been so weird all year so far; and if you're going to go talk to the Headmaster about it, as I suspect you are, then I want to know. I think I deserve to know what's been eating my best friend like one of Snape's corrosives."

Harry stared at him for a moment, and then smiled slightly and said, "All right." He turned to leave again. Ron became confused, and jogged up behind him.

"Whoa, wait, wait a minute -- if it's so important, shouldn't we get Hermione as well?"

Now that the redhead was closer, he could see evidence of great strain in his friend. Harry frowned, and looked longingly towards the portrait hole. "Do you know where she is?"

"Not really... she went off to the library but that was forty minutes ago."

Harry stood, agonized, for a moment. "I can't wait any longer. I'm sorry, but I just can't take any more time. I have to know." 

"What? Know what?"

But Harry was already crawling through the portrait hole.

* * *

Harry didn't speak the whole trip up to Dumbledore's office, save to shush Ron when he tried to ask questions. When they reached the gargoyle, they took off the cloak, and Harry said clearly, "Billiwigs." The gargoyle sprang aside for them, revealing the escalator-like stairway.

"How'd you know that?" Ron asked as they rode up.

"Dumbledore told me at the beginning of the year," Harry replied. "He said if I ever needed to see him..." He ended with a shrug. But something underneath was coiled and tense -- not casual at all. When they reached the top, they could hear muffled sobbing on the other side of the door. Ron was hesitant to knock, but Harry nudged past him and did it.

The door opened of its own accord, and Ron and Harry stepped inside. They were met with a strange scene indeed: Snape was standing by the window, watching as Hermione cried hard into Dumbledore's robes. The Headmaster was comforting her gently, but looked up when the two boys entered. Before anyone could take charge of the situation, Harry stepped forward and spoke.

"Professor, I need to ask you something," he said in a strange, strong voice. "Something... really really important."

Dumbledore gently released Hermione, and sat her down in a large, cushioned chair. All eyes were on Harry. "Ah yes," Dumbledore replied seriously. "Yes. We were wondering when you might be ready."

~*~

Wow!! This one took a long time to get out. Well, hopefully, like GoF, it's been worth it :)  
All the usual thank you's: to all who read and review, and to Adrienne _l'incroyable.  
_ Cookies to the reviewer who guesses what the _Cineris Suspiro_ Curse does... *hint hint*grin*  


Look for a reunion next time around, guys...


	6. "...and left the safety of Hogwarts behi...

XIII.

Such a silence had not descended over the Dover coast in many, many a year. The Cliffs rose high and foreboding over a turbulent sea, and yet a presence in the air itself seemed to have swallowed all noise that might have reached an ear. The thick, ponderous gray clouds threatened a storm, but those who knew the temperament of the area knew it would not come.

Perilously close to the cliff's edge rose a jagged circle of standing stones. They were patient, and motionless: the weather they paid no heed. Suddenly, a little ways behind the ring, another tall, solemn figure appeared with neither sound nor warning. It strode slowly forward to take its place in the circle: the others shuffled aside to make room.

They were not monoliths. They were Death Eaters.

Lucius Malfoy slid in between two Crabbe and Goyle-shaped figures. He did not deign to greet them, or even acknowledge them. Instead, he turned his head ever so slightly to the left and said softly, "When is he due?"

From beneath a hood, the voice of Thomas Avery replied, "If he hasn't told you, then none of us know. He just said to be here with the moon straight overhead. So here we are."

Dissatisfied, Lucius invisibly curled his lip. He didn't like waiting: other people waited for him. He attended the Dark Lord's arrival with very bad grace indeed.

"What're we s'posed to be doing, Lucius?" came Crabbe's voice thickly.

"We'll be informed of the plans for tomorrow, of course," he answered, though that was only an assumption.

Crabbe grunted.

"Wot's 'e planning f'r Halloween, Lucius?" Goyle asked.

"He's going to kill Harry Potter," he replied witheringly.

"Aw yeah," Goyle mused. "He told us that, didn' 'e."

Lucius rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. He raised his eyes and examined the moon. _Should be full in another day or two,_ he thought, for lack of other things to say. A keening silence tore across the cliff tops. The circle of Death Eaters became a ring of standing stones once again -- waiting, just waiting.

* * *

A thick shimmer appeared at the center of the circle. The air seemed to congeal, and then Lord Voldemort was lifting his head and breathing deeply, a thin, cruel smile on his lips. A small animal emerged from his shoulder: it scampered down the length of his outstretched arm and jumped off. Wormtail landed heavily, and had to pick himself up from the lightly frosted grass. Nobody moved; nobody paid any attention to him.

"Good morrow," said Voldemort softly. "I am glad to see... _all _of you present this evening." All eyes darted towards the figure that was undoubtedly Snape. Snape seemed unconcerned, concentrating on watching the Dark Lord. "I am sure the more astute of you are well aware of why I have called you here. If not, then only one word need suffice.

__

"Potter," he hissed, with a sudden vehemence that broke his composure. His red serpentine eyes narrowed angrily. "Thrice! Three times he has eluded me. The 'charm' is broken -- he shall not walk away from his fourth encounter with Lord Voldemort." The eyes focused back on the Death Eaters. "Yes, he shall not escape..." he murmured softly.

"And yet!" he continued, and every wizard present winced inside. "And yet, perhaps this might not have been necessary, had at our last reunion my _skilled_ and _faithful_ servants aided their master properly." He began to pace the circumference of the circle, daring his minions to quail under his glare.

__

Here it comes, thought Lucius desperately -- _the punishment, the pain -- "Crucio"._

But unexpectedly, he did nothing of the sort. He only smiled. "I see you all fear a _rebuke_ from me," he said, a slight, sibilant sound that might have been a laugh accompanying. He shook his head and turned his gaze to the moon. He remained in that attitude for a few minutes more, like a professor speaking to himself, lost in scholarly thought. "You may relax: even Wormtail here can do nothing to dampen my spirits tonight. In twenty-four hours, Potter shall be dead, and the world shall truly know that my reign has resumed."

He paused, as though solidifying an idea into words. "Luckily, you will all be safely far away, so as not to bungle the event a second time. Yes, I blame you, loyal Death Eaters: do not pretend you do not know that."

Voldemort slid a pale, thin hand into his robes and withdrew a small, faceted orb made of glass, or crystal. He smiled. "A delightful little confection, is it not? This is a Gallivesper. Let me show you what it can do." And with that, he launched it vertically into the air. As it hit a certain altitude, about thirteen feet off the ground, it leveled off, and gave off a bright flash of white light. The Death Eaters gasped, and backed away, shielding themselves with their cloaks. At the sound of Voldemort's loud, mocking laughter, they all knew they were still unharmed. They lowered their disguises, and watched what was occurring where Voldemort had been standing an instant ago.

The figure of a man was sprawled on the ground before them. He was not moving, although his body quaked every few moments, trembling with naked fear. He was a tall, gaunt-looking man who had obviously seen better days. Lucius realized he could not have been real, however, when he noticed that his limbs did not appear solid. It was a projection, coming from the little sphere hovering above their heads.

"You may have heard, that in the Muggle world, they have devised cameras that broadcast images and events all over the nations. We magic folk, of course, had developed this capability long ago. This Gallivesper is French, a marvelous instrument of glass and æther and light. It recorded this image at the end of August, just before the start of term at Durmstrang Institute."

It was then that a real chill raced down Lucius Malfoy's spine: he was witnessing the execution of Igor Karkaroff.

Though the voices were distant and muffled, the audience of Death Eaters could tell that Voldemort had just addressed Karkaroff. The Russian wizard let out a great cry of terror, and pressed himself closer onto the ground, if that was at all possible. The Dark Lord's laugh came through eerily clear, and Karkaroff was suddenly dragged upright and onto his feet as though by an invisible hand around his neck. He flailed his arms and tried to pries away whatever choked him, but to no avail: he was not going anywhere. 

A sinister incantation reached the ears of the circle, although the words themselves were indistinct. A small spark shot through the air and buried itself in the man's chest. Karkaroff doubled up violently, and several spasms rent through his body. Then he began to cough.

At first it was only a little puff of smoke -- no more than if he'd been exhaling from a pipe. But soon the amount grew, until plumes of ash were pouring from his mouth. A look of blind, wild pain was blazing in his face, and he tore at his body as though trying to extinguish something he could not reach. The Death Eaters watched silently, stunned and horrified. At last, Karkaroff's skin began to char, and, as he very obviously retained consciousness, he burst into flames with an inhuman scream.

Then there was nothing. No sound of breathing disturbed the perfect quiet atop the Cliffs of Dover. Then -- a low, throaty chuckle. _"Cineris Suspiro,_ my friends. Brought back to Rome from the deepest reaches of Egyptian Africa. The curse sends a small, tight spark of unquenchable fire into the heart of the victim. The spark burrows into the flesh of the muscle, and begins to smolder. More sparks break off, and spread through the veins and blood into the entire body. Slowly, oh so slowly, every cell is consumed in flame, and the recipient is forced to exhale every dead bit of ash.

"The caster, on the other, gains the benefit of certain powers if he breathes in this ash. It's almost like absorbing the energy of another body." Voldemort smiled, leaving no doubt as to whom he was envisioning to next writhe in the throes of the curse. "When Potter's _cinders_ mingle with my blood, then my strength will soar to heights never before imagined on this earth! Tomorrow, gentlemen," he said, his voice resuming its silkiness; "tomorrow, the world shall be at our feet."

He reached up with one impossibly long, white arm, and the Gallivesper seemed to be sucked into his hand. He held it up to the Death Eaters. "You will each receive one of these. At midnight of All Hallow's Eve, Potter shall finally join his parents. And you shall have a show to satisfy your every last desire of revenge." His smile was jagged, and immeasurably cruel.

A small, glassy orb suddenly appeared before Lucius. It hovered in front of him, near neck level, waiting. Lucius found himself breathing hard. He glanced around at the other Death Eaters. He felt rather than saw Voldemort eying him. He fought to keep his hand from shaking: and he reached out in front of him and plucked the Gallivesper from the air.

* * *

James only just had time to doge the curse as it barreled toward his head. He threw himself to the side, and rolled over quickly. _"Impedimenta!" _he cried, pointing his borrowed wand at his attacker.

__

"Contego!" the other wizard retaliated, blocking his spell. _"Samotsarum!"_

James's legs wobbled and collapsed beneath him. He looked at his legs, bending in odd places, as though bones did not matter anymore. He sighed, amused, and squinted up against the rising sun. "Jelly legs, Sirius?"

Sirius walked over to him and performed the countercurse, shrugging. "Just thought you ought to be ready for anything, you know." He helped James to his feet. "You need the practice, if you're going to be dueling."

James frowned, but said nothing. "Come on, let's go see what Moony's up to." The two friends walked across the moor together, leaning against each other to keep warm against the wind.

Remus's face was flush with excitement when he opened the door for them. "I've got it!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe I didn't see it before! Come in, I've got to tell you! It's rather brilliant, if I do say so myself," he added.

"What, has modesty left our favorite professor?" Sirius commented wryly as he removed his coat and hung it on a peg. When he turned around, Remus was grinning about four inches from his face. He held a shimmering red feather between them.

"Fawkes's feather," he said.

"Yes... and your point is?"

"The answer comes from Harry!" Remus declared impatiently. "Don't you see? His wand and Voldemort's both have a core from Fawkes! At the Third Task, when they were forced to work against each other, they wouldn't: the Priori Incantatem effect took place, and all of Voldemort's last spells came back and hit him in the face! James, don't you see? Your feather is our secret weapon!" He began pacing. "If you can throw back one of his curses on him, it might work against him!"

James and Sirius stared at him. "You... you really think that can happen?" James voiced.

Remus nodded fervently. "I do."

Sirius gulped, and stepped back a pace. "I think I'll... go and get the mail." As casually as he could, he retreated into a side room where they had been letting the mail pile up.

Remus's eye followed him. "He's scared this won't work," he said flatly to James, not looking at him.

"Well of course he's scared," James reasoned. "I am too. But now we're done thinking, which is where he comes in, " he ended lightly.

Remus laughed. "That's not very fair..." 

__

And you know it's not true. But we all need a laugh, and Sirius needs to be laughed at: he has twelve years to make up for... 

James shrugged, and absently wished he had some hot cocoa. From outside the kitchen he and Remus heard the sound of wings beating against a window. "Hold up, don't be such a-- _Will you--?!" _The rest of Sirius's indignant reply to the mail owl was lost in the creaking of the sill and the owl's hoots.

James turned back to Remus. "Will the feather itself work with spells and such? Will I need a real wand as well?"

Remus shook his head. "The wood around a wand is mostly for concentrating the power. The feather might act a little wild, but it should be just fine." He narrowed his eyes pensively. "I wonder what's taking Padfoot so long. Surely the owl can't be _that_ hard to negotiate with..."

James paused for a second, and then asked, "Are you up for some breakfast?"

His friend nodded. "Sounds great. I could do with -- oh, hello there."

Sirius had reentered, his step slower than usual. "You got a letter from Hogwarts, James," he said carefully, handing him an unevenly-folded piece of parchment. James took the letter and examined the front: "To Mr. James Potter, Residence of Professor Lupin, The Cottage on the Moor."

"Whose hand is this?" he asked. It didn't look like anybody's he knew.

Nobody answered him. He looked up curiously. "What?"

Sirius took a breath, locking eyes with him. "It's Harry's."

The room was silent. "Harry's?" James repeated dumbly, as though he didn't quite know who Sirius was talking about.

Sirius nodded. 

"Oh." He looked back down at the parchment. The letters, he could now see, shook slightly, and a faint sweat stain colored one of the edges. "Oh." He raised his head, to find that his friends had withdrawn from the room. James wasn't sure if he should thank them for it or not: he felt very vulnerable, alone with this note from his son. He stood, indecisive, for a moment more, and then he slowly made his way over to the plush armchair near the fireplace.

He sat down heavily in it, and unconsciously thought back to that encounter in July. He was lost in thought for a few moments, and then found himself opening the letter. He read over it, once, twice, three times, not quite believing its contents. He then set it down upon his knees, weak with emotion. And then he allowed himself a laugh, because he felt if he didn't, he might not be able to bear what would follow.

* * *

__

30.11.95

It has been a weird year for me.

I found out I have a godfather. I found out my best friend's rat killed my parents. I was made a fourth Champion in a competition that is limited to three. I saw Cedric die. I saw Voldemort come back. I saw my mother. And she asked me where you were.

It just got worse from there. I couldn't trust anything I used to believe. And then, when I tried to ask Sirius about it, I found not him but you -- because now I know it was you. It took a lot, but I can't come up with any other way things could be. I've talked to Dumbledore about it. And even Snape says it's true.

I'm somebody's son. I have a dad. He's reading this letter. And I know you have things you have to do tomorrow. Professor Dumbledore didn't tell me what it was, but I think it has to be something huge. I understand if you're too busy. But I was wondering if I could see you before then. To say I'm sorry, for not believing you earlier. 

If not, well... then good luck.

Love,

Harry

XIV.

__

Here I am, here I am waiting to hold you.  
Did I dream you dreamed about me?  
Were you here when I was full sail?

This Mortal Coil, "Song to the Siren"   


"Which way is it next?"

"I don't know! How am I supposed to see this map in the dark?"

"Oh, _honestly! Lumos."_

"So where are we now?"

"Close, I should think. I see Sirius and Professor Lupin over there, on the other side of that wall."

Harry barely heard Ron and Hermione's bickering. His feet blindly followed the shapes of his two friends, while his head was in another place altogether. _It really is you, isn't it. That's what he said, that night at Professor Lupin's house. And now it's my turn._

"Harry? Harry?"

Hermione's voice cut through his reverie. They had stopped walking. She and Ron were examining him closely, with slightly apprehensive looks on their faces. "Harry, are you sure you'll be alright?"

He felt a smile slide across his face. "Yeah. I'll be fine." He turned to leave but found a solid stone wall between him and his godfather. "Ah, how do I get through?"

Ron handed him the Map. The _Harry Potter _dot was accompanied by a speech bubble reading _"Fissum."_ Harry withdrew his wand, then paused. "Thanks for walking me through."

Ron and Hermione smiled back, as though they didn't quite know what to say. "Oh Harry!" Hermione finally breathed. She searched for words for an instant more, and finding none, she finished, "Tell him... tell him... well, hello, I suppose, from me."

Ron stuck out his hand. "Good luck, Harry," he said earnestly. 

Harry nodded. "Thanks." He looked at his two best friends. "Do you need the Map to get back?"

Ron grinned. "Nah. I'll bet your dad will want to see it again." 

They were silent for an instant more. Then Harry slipped the Map into his robes and took a deep breath. He opened the wall and stepped through, leaving them behind.

Sirius and Professor Lupin were waiting on the other side. "Hello Harry," Professor Lupin greeted him. Sirius said nothing, only pulling Harry into a fierce bear hug. They began to wind their way through the passages.

"Is that what I think it is?" Sirius asked, eying the sheet of parchment sticking out of Harry's pocket. Professor Lupin grinned at Harry.

"I'm not sure it would be too safe to let him see it. He might fill you in on some of the ideas we never let him carry out. _For good reason,_"he added emphatically. 

Sirius playfully wilted. "I don't see why you three never got curious about where McGonagall kept those talking statues! Think of all the stuff we could have found out."

Professor Lupin snorted. "Like you didn't already know."

"Know what?" Harry asked curiously.

Sirius and Professor Lupin exchanged glances. "We'll tell you when you're older," Sirius said.

"When the information is safely useless to you!" 

Sirius play-glared at him.

"How close are we?" Harry inquired.

"Pretty far," Professor Lupin admitted. "See for yourself."

Harry withdrew the Marauder's Map and found himself. His breath quickened as his eye rested on a figure pacing back and forth across a space labeled "Well Hidden Room No. 442". _James Potter._

"What's my dad like?" he asked, his eyes still glued to the map.

Nobody spoke immediately. Harry looked up. Both Professor Lupin and Sirius had mixed expressions on their faces.

"He was a great dancer," Sirius mused finally.

Professor Lupin smiled a little. "I had forgotten that. Yes, remember how he used to dance with Lily in the living room?"

"What _I_ remember is that jigging contest he held at Rosmerta's our sixth year."

"Oh that. Yes." A strange, devious glint entered the professor's eye. "Who won that again?"

Sirius shrugged. "I think it was Snape."

__

"Snape?" said Harry incredulously.

The pair simply grinned and would not explain further.

"And what a flier! Harry, if I were you I'd keep my Firebolt locked up tight -- it's more than likely you'd find him outside playing with it at odd hours of the day."

"That's true. You're great on a brookstick, Harry, but the old master might have a thing or two to teach you himself."

Harry couldn't help but grin. Yet somehow.... somehow they weren't telling him what he wanted to know, and they were well aware of it. 

The trio was silent for another stretch of time. Harry found himself envisioning what he would say when he finally met his dad. It never seemed to come out right, however, and he wondered if it might just be easier to let him talk first.

"He..."

Harry looked up. Sirius was staring straight ahead, his eyes glassy. He gulped, as though what he wanted to say was hard for him. "He loved you very much. And he still does. And I think he'll make a great father." He looked down at Harry with an odd, vulnerable expression on his face, and Harry suddenly realized they must be very close. He hesitantly broke eye contact with Sirius and unrolled the Map again.

Well-Hidden Room No. 442 was at the end of this passageway. The _James Potter_ dot was still pacing. Harry felt a wash of numbness over his body. _They were almost there. He was thirty-five feet away from meeting his father._

"Do you... d'you want us to come in with you?" Professor Lupin asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, thanks," he whispered.

__

Twenty feet...

Sixteen feet...

Nine feet...

Three feet...

Eleven inches...

They halted in front of a dull-looking door with a brass knob. "Here we are," Sirius said, with a curious flatness to his voice.

Harry looked down at the Map. _James Potter_ was standing stock still in the corner directly opposite the door. He suddenly felt a hand on his right shoulder. He glanced up: Professor Lupin was smiling encouragingly at him. Harry smiled back and felt his stomach completely disappear. The two men on either side of him seemed to grow tall and unreal. As though in slow motion, Sirius leaned forward, stretched out his arm, and grasped the knob. Harry watched with a lightheaded disbelief as he twisted his wrist, and the hinges creaked. The door swung open...

The room was empty, save for a couch and a few lamps. Harry furrowed his brow. He stepped forward, through the door and over the threshold.

A tall, thin man stepped out of the shadows, an expression of disbelief identical to Harry's on his face.

The many who had commented how Harry resembled his father had been completely correct in the comparison. James Potter was lithe, skinny even -- though that could be attributed to the ordeal he'd been through. His hair, haphazardly streaked with bright white amidst the blackness, was thick and unruly. His skin wasn't so pale as before -- it had a flush of healthiness present now. Behind the wire-rimmed glasses, his great brown eyes were quick and intelligent.

He carried himself gracefully: his slow, tentative steps toward Harry were nonetheless surefooted and fluid. He stopped about eight feet away from his son. Harry was completely motionless, save for the rise and fall of his chest. Both Potters seemed to absorbed in staring at the other to even begin trying to say something.

__

This is what I'm going to look like when I'm older, Harry thought fleetingly.

__

My son is standing here! James said to himself. _It's finally happening! And he's not running away..._

He took another step forward.

"You're..." Harry began. He stopped, unable to continue. After a moment of intense emotion, he finished, "It really is you. They weren't lying."

A small smile touched James's lips. "No," he answered. "They weren't."

Something was holding him back, something was keeping Harry from coming any closer. He felt his breath become more staggered, and his limbs began to shake. "Why didn't you tell me?" he said, choking a little.

James met his gaze with few apologies in his face. "Because I did not want my son to meet me as a wreck."

Harry felt his head grow too heavy to support anymore, and he looked down at his feet. He took a deep breath and began moving them forward, one after the other. James watched, half astounded that this was actually happening. When he was within arm's reach, Harry raised his head and examined James closer. Then, with a movement weak from amazement, he lifted his left hand and reached for his father.

__

The second time I've touched my son in fourteen years. James drew him closer and embraced him. The two were silent and motionless for a moment, almost unwilling to believe it wasn't a dream. Then James felt Harry's face contort against his shoulder, and the sound of sobs welling up reverberated in his chest. He stroked Harry's hair, comforting himself as much as his son, and then gave in and let himself cry as well.

"Dad," Harry breathed periodically. "Dad..."

Father and son stood there, alone in the room, reunited at last. "Hello, Harry," James said back. "Hello."

* * *

They talked of many things when the initial shock was over. James explained how he had survived the attack at Godric's Hollow all those years ago. Harry told him about how he'd discovered who he was, how he'd come to Hogwarts and year after year unraveled new facts about his identity. James talked about Lily, telling Harry more about his mother than he'd ever learned before. Harry told James about his friends, about Hermione and about the Weasleys and how much he thought he would like them.

They talked long into the hours of the night, long after the Halloween Feast would have ended and the rest of Hogwarts retired to their dormitories. As the evening grew late, Harry felt the exhaustion swimming through him, and his vision began to blur. There was one last thing he had to tell his father, something important about tonight...

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small wooden ring. "I'm supposed to give this to you," he said, handing the object to James. "This is how you're supposed to meet him tonight."

James's concentration abandoned the blue light flickering through the interior of the ring. "So you know what I have to do tonight?"

Harry nodded. "I didn't think there was anything bigger, that would make you leave again."

James closed his eyes and sighed, wishing he didn't have to disappear as soon as he'd regained his dearest wish. 

"It's going to become a door to someplace at midnight," Harry continued, his words becoming heavier and sleepier with every passing moment. "You... you have to close it behind you once you're through, so they can't get inside Hogwarts."

James's eyes became wide and frightened for an instant. "I hadn't even thought of that," he whispered, imagining for a terrible second what Voldemort might do if he penetrated Albus Dumbledore's stronghold.

Harry fought a yawn. "Snape told me how to do it," he mumbled. "You just run your fingers around the edge. It chokes it off. Like with pottery, when you choke off a form to make it smaller." He smiled slightly at the irony.

They were both quiet for a while, listening to one another breathe. Then James heard something from next to him.

"I love you," Harry murmured.

James gazed at his son, his eyes burning with happiness and pride. He then looked away, thinking. He reached into his robes and withdrew a photograph. By the muted light he could just make out the people inside it. It was a family portrait: himself, Harry, and Lily, all lying asleep on their couch back in the Godric's Hollow home. He watched his family, all sprawled across each other, entwined and at peace. He ached for Lily as he watched her, holding Harry close to her breast. And then he remembered what Harry told him she'd said: "Isn't he with you?"

It was just like Lily, to want them to be together. He broke away from the image and looked at Harry. He was curled up on his side, his head lying on James's lap. James smiled, and leaned over to kiss him on the head. He brushed aside Harry's hair, and examined the scar. It was the first good look he'd gotten of it: an ugly reminder of the task he had at hand.

He thought of what his son had seen last June, and he pondered what Remus had said that morning, about Priori Incantatem and the phoenix feather. _I wonder if I'll see Lily tonight,_ he mused, and picked up the ring again. After a moment's contemplation, he tossed the Aperio talisman away, listening to it roll around on the floor in the dark. He could still see the faint blue glow emanating from it, and he sat staring at the spot it had rested.

A long time seemed to elapse. James sat on the couch, feeling the warmth of Harry's body against his. A sound like fire flaring up and consuming dry wood interrupted his peace. James watched as the ring, now on its edge, grew larger and larger, until it was big enough for a man to step through. The blue æther undulated for a moment longer, and then it died away, retreating into the wood. James felt a warm wind on his face, and as he peered through the darkness, he could make out a rolling meadow on the other side of the opening. His eyes adjusted, and by the light of the nearly-full moon, he could see a line of trees rimming the field.

__

So this is where Voldemort is meeting us. He steeled himself, and then gently slid out from under Harry. His son did not move: obliviously, he settled down into the warm spot James had left behind. James took one more look at his sleeping son, smiling wistfully. He then picked up the photograph again and tucked it between Harry's hands.

Taking care to be quiet, he walked over to another door that lead to an adjoining room. He opened it. Remus and Sirius looked up from their seats, and then stood. There was no need to tell them what time it was. They filed back into the room where the opening lay waiting for them.

They stood before it for what seemed like ages. "Are you wearing the namyasto?" Remus asked quietly.

Sirius nodded. "Prongs -- you got your feather?"

James nodded. He looked over his shoulder at Harry, feeling hopelessly like this might be the last time he laid eyes on his son. Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be fine."

James gazed, a desperate sadness threatening to manifest itself. "I'll come back," he vowed. "I promise, Harry. I promise."

The three Marauders exchanged looks. Then, one by one, they crossed the wooden threshold and left the safety of Hogwarts behind.

* * *

"What about helping me with my book, and making a start on the next? Have you thought of an ending?"

"Yes, several, and all are dark and unpleasant," said Frodo.

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

~*~

__

It's getting down to the bitter end, folks -- you know what that means comes next...  
Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews!! You're all wonderful, beautiful people and you deserve medals *grin*


	7. "...completely and utterly alone."

XIV.

"Waves obey a superposition principle: If two or more waves arrive simultaneously at the same place, the resulting effect is simply the sum of the effects of each of the waves." Robert H. March, _Physics for Poets _

James was the first out. He stood to the side of the door and studied his surroundings. The air was warm and wet -- they had to be far away from the chill gloom of Scotland. A soft breeze, detectable almost by inference alone, flowed gently by in gusts. The trees were all tall and thick and obviously ancient. There was little bracken obstructing the space between them. High above, the moon blazed with silver light, illuminating the whole scene. Something caught his eye -- something painfully familiar, yet unidentifiable. An oak with twin trunks -- it seemed to mean something to him...

"James! James, close this thing off!" Sirius hissed.

He jerked around. The door remained a gaping hole hanging between himself and safety. He could even see the top of Harry's head, propped up against the arm of the couch. A sound distracted him. Sirius was helping Remus to his feet: Remus was pale, and shaking, and trying to suppress gasps of pain.

"What's wrong?" James asked, startled.

"Nothing... I'll be fine," Remus lied through his teeth. "Shut it off, James, before somebody could get back through."

James approached the Aperio talisman. Tentatively he reached a hand out to touch the rim. He leapt back when he discovered it was spinning, fast, and hard. He bit his lower lip and concentrated: he put his fingers to it once again, and pressed toward the center. The ring began to shrink, and the blue in the middle grew more intense. Despairingly, James watched as Harry grew less and less visible, until finally the object was the same size it originally had been. The ring hung there, hovering in midair, for a moment: it then gave off a blinding burst of light and dropped to the ground, apparently harmless.

Sirius, frowning, leaned down and picked it up. Without another word he dropped it into a pocket and drew his wand. Remus was hunched over, his hand on his knees. "Are you okay?" James asked.

Remus swallowed. "It's... as soon as I came through here it just exploded in me. Everything is just _throbbing,_ like... like it does right before I change."

"But it's not the full moon tonight!"

Remus raised his head, his eyes narrowed in thought. "There's something supernatural about this place. Something really strong."

Sirius held out the namyasto pendant. "Yeah, this thing's been going crazy. Feel it."

James wrapped a hand around the green amber, and felt how it seemed to be buzzing with energy against his palm. The sensation was in two places however... James furrowed his brow and took the phoenix feather out from his robes. "My feather's doing it too. Check your wands -- are they vibrating?"

"Look, whatever this is, doesn't matter to what's waiting for us," Sirius interrupted. "Voldemort is around here somewhere; we've got to get to him before he catches up with us."

Silently, they began to move through the field. James had never been so alert and scared in his life. Yet he found himself noticing not possible signs of the Dark Lord, but the way the dry grass swept by above his ankles, or how the trees seemed to glow in the moonlight.

"Wait!" whispered Sirius, throwing his arms out to stop the other two. "Do you see that?"

James peered over to where he was pointing.

The figure of a woman stood alone among the grasses, waiting. Her ferociously red hair was like a poppy amidst the dull russet colors of the dormant forest. "Lily?" he said incredulously. How could that be possible? He would have _known_ were she alive. And Harry saw her last June. How could she be out here? How--?

"It's a shade," Remus replied quietly. "I'll bet you anything it's just an image, trying to lure us to him. Or to let us know where he is."

"If that's his plan, then we'll meet him and fight him there, then," said Sirius. "Come on, James." He pulled his friend by the arm and lead him forward.

They followed the apparition silently through the field. Lily never seemed to change size as they neared her, although she did seem to come into focus. It panged James desperately to see her, even though he knew it was a trap. Then, at one point, the vision began to lose its opacity, and as her edges blurred, they saw that an endless blackness loomed in her place.

Remus stopped walking. "That's him."

"How?" Sirius peered through to the patch of darkness. "How is that a wizard?"

"He's not a wizard anymore," replied James. "He's not even alive." His eyes widened as he noticed something, and pointed. "Look!"

Translucent faces were flashing within the blackness, as though trapped. James saw a sheet of bright red hair thrashing against the sides of the shape; a boy about seventeen was throwing his weight onto whatever barriers contained him. As they watched, the people faded, and then he was there -- Voldemort, towering over them, smiling.

He said nothing for an instant, but instead uncurled his hand, revealing a small glass globe. Wordlessly, he tossed the ball skyward. It stopped a few feet above his head, and then emitted a burst of light. "Good evening, my faithful Death Eaters," he said, his voice nearly a purr. Sirius, Remus, and James watched, horrified and transfixed. Remus's eyes were darting frantically, but he, like the others, could see no one else.

Voldemort had still not addressed them, though he continued speaking. "This seems to have carried off better than I had hoped. Black and Lupin are here as well -- the convict and the werewolf. I do hope you appreciate the irony, Severus. Really, Potter, did you think your parents' washed-up friends could help you?"

__

He thinks I'm Harry, James thought fleetingly. _Snape kept the secret well indeed. _

"No matter -- perhaps I shall give Wormtail the honor of killing them. Oh yes," he said, noticing the way Sirius grew rigid, "he is lurking out there somewhere. He has been watching you ever since you arrived."

A furious growl erupted from Sirius's throat. He fought to keep himself still, to keep his eyes on Voldemort. But something inside betrayed him, and he looked to his feet.

It came instantly. _"Crucio!"_ Voldemort cried, and with a startled scream, Sirius fell. 

Remus yelled, and withdrew his wand. _"Conjunctiva!"_ But before the blindness curse had hit, Voldemort had deflected it. His wand still on Sirius, he made a clutching motion with his other hand, and Remus was suddenly lifted up by the neck off the ground. 

James knew he had to move. An old instinct had taken over, a spirit of war which had not been in him since he was young. He lifted up the phoenix feather and pointed it at Voldemort. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ he yelled, to distract him. A dazzling silver shape exploded from the tip of the feather: he could not see it clearly, but he remembered his old Patronus enough to know this wasn't it.

All activity stopped. Remus fell to the ground, gasping, while Sirius ceased his cries. He lay oddly still on the grass, barely even panting. Voldemort was now facing him fully. A curious expression came over the Dark wizard's face. "You..." he began. "You are not him..."

James felt his wand arm fall to his side. He kept up the eye contact with Voldemort: he felt strangely calm. "I am not Harry, true. But I will give you this, my last name _is_ Potter."

"Is this some sort of trick?" his opponent hissed. "I killed James Potter as sure as I've killed all the others."

"Then I should be worried indeed," James answered lightly. "You did not kill my son," he proclaimed, "and you did not kill me."

A wind began, rustling the dead leaves of the trees around them. Voldemort's eyes were hard and angry. "Where is Harry? I will have you, but I need Harry. Where have you hidden him?"

A slow half-smile twitched at James's mouth. "Surely you don't think I'd tell you that," he replied, with just as much cheek and courage as he actually felt. He had _never _felt this confident. Even his heartbeat was slowing down, slow and steady, to even pulses which spread through his body like strength made solid.

There was no amusement left in Lord Voldemort's face. He bared his teeth. "You will pay... but you will also do. For now." James noticed the tip of his wand was beginning to smolder, glowing vaguely red, like embers. He moved quickly.

__

"Cineris--" Voldemort began.

__

"Expelliarmus!"

It did not happen as Harry or Lupin had said. The world seemed to become hyper-real and washed out. The wind roared into life, and the very edges of objects seemed to swirl and flicker. Complete silence reigned. James felt rather than heard the beats that seemed to explode within him. He looked up in surprise at Voldemort: the Dark Lord was paralyzed, and pieces of him seemed to be less distinct, at intervals.

"What is this?" 

James received no verbal answer. The pulses seemed to increase in their power, however. They washed over him, as though searching through him, trying to draw out an answer. A muffled, indistinct voice seemed to grow audible. _Stag,_ it spoke, though it was not with words. _Stag. You are come again. Stag. Stag._

He lost the ability and the need to breathe. He remembered the trees, the wind, the twin oak. He recognized the source of what was causing his feather, and the namyasto, and Remus, to shake. "Cernunnos?" he breathed, barely confident of an answer.

__

James Potter... Why have you come here again?

"Cernunnos! Cernunnos, who gave me name and body and breath!" He felt himself recalling the language of the stories he'd heard at the Well. "You, who gave me the greatest of boons, I did not realize you were here!"

The voice seemed gratified, and a little amused. _I extend farther than my rock, James Potter. You should know -- it was you who followed me from here. _

"Yes, it was. And now I stand here, facing the enemy who sent me to you in the first place."

The voice of Cernunnos was silent. James felt a breeze rushing over his face. He felt himself tilt his head backward and close his eyes.

"Please. I need your help. I am loathe to ask of more from you, but if you might... My two dearest friends and I are facing a formidable enemy indeed. I have no wish for them to become relevant to Samhain, this feast of the spirits. I want us all to continue living. Yet I have run out of ideas, and I do not think I could escape once again."

Cernunnos did not answer directly. _Have you seen your son since?_ he inquired.

James nodded. "I saw this evening. I can still smell him upon my clothes. I would give anything to be able to return to him."

__

And your wife?

"She is dead."

__

Ah.

Then:

__

James Potter, why are you here?

James opened his eyes. "Why?" he repeated. "Why? I am here because I did not want to have returned to life in vain. I do not want Voldemort, this dark force in the world, destroying the lives of my son and of those I've loved and left behind -- and since come back to. I am here," he finished, "for the same reason Lleu of the de Danaan was."

Strangely, the voice of Cernunnos began, inexplicably, to chuckle. _It is fitting you should mention that tale. _

"Why is that?" he asked, confused.

__

Concentrate, and listen, and I will tell you a story.

* * *

Remus wondered distantly if he had gone deaf as a result of Voldemort's curse. Shaking, he lifted his head, trying to see what was happening. The air had become silent and still, and he could hear nothing of Sirius, lying some feet away from James. 

James. He was standing there, holding his feather, looking like for all the world like a ghost. A soft white glow was emanating from his skin; his eyes were closed, and he did not appear to be breathing. Voldemort, on the other hand, was frozen in an attitude of confusion and fear. Every once in a while, Remus thought he saw holes in the Dark Lord's body.

"This is odd," he whispered fiercely to himself, and tried to prop himself up on his elbows, to watch, and try and figure out what James was doing.

* * *

__

Long ages have I remained where I was born;

Countless years have I stayed where once men and women created me and bade me linger.

Their child, I obeyed, and still obey.

This rock, this well, this glade is my core;

Never a tomb, yet not a cage -- I remain because I cannot depart.

Some who followed told me I was with them in the hunt.

Later peoples said I carried them from Above to Below.

Yet they _shaped me, those first ones. They gave me identity._

And they gave me a purpose.

And I heeded them.

* * *

The white mist surrounding James seemed to congeal, very suddenly. Remus gave a sharp intake of breath. It had all gathered in his chest. Every few seconds, it would flare outward. James was completely oblivious. He appeared to be listening to something hidden.

* * *

__

It paces the edge of memory, my story. It begins at a time which few know existed. 

It is the nature of our land to be subject to invaders. Wave after wave, they arrive, and clear what was here before them. I have seen Saxons; I have seen Gauls; I have seen Normans; I have seen Celts. But I tell you that none were so terrible as the Form'yrch.

Balomaug lead them out of the dark recesses of the earth, from the cesspools and bilge hiding deep beneath the clear waters which beat against the coasts. He was a poisonous creature -- but was once a man, like yourself. He had descended among the Form'yrch, to learn of their ways and study them, to see if they might one day become allies with his people aboveground. A terrible mistake -- who who knew anything of them could ever want them as friends?

Perhaps he had motives when he went down. All I have been told is that when he emerged again, it was at the head of a great army, and none who knew him before could find shards of the old man within. His Form'yrch trampled the earth, pillaging and slaying any and all in their path. Balomaug was well pleased -- for he believed he could be lord of all who trod the same earth as he; and in the carnage he wreaked he saw progress. 

Many resisted, of course. And many who were brave died in confronting him. For Balomaug had acquired many strange powers for himself in the bowels of the ground. He had ceased to need food, and light, and sky, and touch: he had become something dead, or at the very least, something not alive as you know it. And yet he existed more strongly than many others, and he used this to his advantage.

I call one Lugus my mother and my father. It was he who conceived me in his head, and he who collected the many necessary to create me. They made me, named me, called me. And I came.

* * *

The whiteness definitely had a shape. It kept appearing and vanishing, as through it was being pulled in and out of James's chest against its will; but Remus could distinguish a head, and occasionally legs. It... well, in all truth, it resembled a stag. His brow contracted. _Why would I see Harry's Patronus... trying to come out of James's chest?_

He looked over at Voldemort again, and back at the phantom stag. He began to notice a correlation: the more the stag emerged, the more gaping the holes in Voldemort became. He was only solid at intervals, at even intervals... _like nodes..._ Furiously, Remus continued thinking. _This is not magic. This is something simpler and more powerful than magic. This..._

* * *

__

Two hundred magic folk collected in this forest, lined up quietly and patiently, waiting for their chance to approach the Well. Each one let lose their powers and poured them into the spring. Piece by piece, I came alive, felt myself waking, felt the heartbeat which governed me.

Lugus was last, and he spoke to me before he sacrificed himself.

"Do you know what you are?" he asked me.

"I am," I answered. "That is all I am certain of."

"You are Cernunnos," he told me. "You are the greatest hope in our world. We bore you so that you might save us. We are your family, and we ask you help defend us."

And then I was frightened. I knew not even what I was, and now I learn I must defeat something, everything, of which I knew nothing. "What am I to do?" I said. "What is it you ask of me?"

And Lugus answered me, saying, "Do you feel the life we have given you? The throb which exists in men and trees and birds and grass?" And I did. That moment, I first detected the pulse of the living earth. And Lugus instructed me, saying, "Amplify. Make that heartbeat greater, so great that it will extinguish that which is not alive, and yet breathing. They have no right to us: nullify them. And celebrate that pulse, for it is what makes us breathe, eat, love, and feel." 

That is what he told me. And that is what I have done. 

* * *

"Who are you?" James asked through his trance. "Are you... are you Merlin?"

Cernunnos paused, and somehow, James felt he was smiling. _No._

I am the magic of two hundred folk collected and contained in a body of clear, bright water. I am what is left when powers are severed from a wizard and what remains in his place is a man. I am the defeater of Balomaug and his Form'yrch -- for once I was unleashed, he left these lands and was never heard from again. I am his enemy: I am everything that he opposes. I am death, and I am life. I am change.

James felt a sudden surge in the pulses within, and they escalated into a drumbeat, so powerful he felt he was being pushed out of his hard-won body.

__

Do you understand what I am telling you?

His eyes were wide, trying to take in everything that was happened to him. He exhaled, and felt himself shudder. "I think so."

__

Then keep still. It will only be a moment.

* * *

__

Okay. Okay. Think. Voldemort is not human. He is a force. Forces obey laws. It's a rule of nature.

James is animal, and alive. He's the opposite, the antithesis, the... He is the...

"Oh God," Remus whispered, as he watched the white stag struggling forward even more. 

__

He's sending himself out. He's going to cancel Voldemort out.

"He'll _die!"_ he moaned. _Even worse, he'll simply stop being. He'll just vanish, like that. He has nothing extra to spare, to negate Voldemort. We'll lose everything about him!_

Trembling, Remus stood, his eyes locked on James. His friend was glowing brightly now: he was standing there, helpless, as the white stag flashed, each time a little closer to escape.

"I won't let him," he said firmly. "I won't let him do this to me." He straightened, staring hard at James. "Hell no are you going to leave me again, after all we've done. I'll be damned if I let you become a martyr again." 

He tried to estimate how far apart James and Voldemort were. He began inching his way to the right, and back. He concentrated fiercely on the throb of pulses washing over him. 

"Please," he implored. "Whoever, whatever is out there, helping James -- listen to me. I know what you're doing: I see it. And I ask you to use me instead."

Something in the ground suddenly burst in a wave of energy at his feet. A pulse rocked through him, and he gasped. Never had he felt this way, not even when the change was new to him. His breath came fast and haltingly now, but Remus plowed forward. "Use me instead. Please. I've lost James once. Don't let me lose him again. Don't let Harry lose him again. And Sirius. Please. We all need him here. Use me instead. I ask you--"

* * *

__

I begin to collect my thoughts, to bring near to me all the things which have made my life happy and worthwhile.

****

Think of Remus, and why he was worth becoming an Animagus for.

Think of Sirius, and why he is the best friend a man could ever hope for.

Think of Lily, and why you could not imagine continuing without loving her.

Think of Harry, and the wonderful life he is going to lead when this is all--

* * *

All movement died. The white haze surrounding James evaporated instantaneously. Voldemort became whole again. An expression of terror was upon his face, and he tried raising his wand. Briefly, James stumbled.

__

And inside, the wolf stirred.

* * *

__

A lull. Do you feel that? A respite. Move, Sirius. Move, make yourself useful. Sirius--!

The ground he lay on was moving. He couldn't explain it, but he thought he detected... ripples in the earth itself. They rolled forward, past him and toward James and Remus. It was though the ocean had decided on a whim it might try being solid for a day. _This is stupid,_ he told himself. _Here you are lying down while they're standing up, facing Voldemort. Have you no pride, Sirius Black?_

He gritted his teeth, and pulled himself to his feet. He nearly panicked when he saw his friends. James was shining as brightly white as the moon above them; Remus was walking backward and forward, muttering something. Voldemort, strangely enough, was motionless.

He tried yelling, tried raising his wand to stop whatever was cursing James and possessing Remus to do nothing, but he found he could not move. Indeed, everything seemed to slow down; he became aware of absolutely _everything_ around him. The sound of his own harsh, ragged breathing was the only noise accompanying that of his pounding heart. He was powerless: he could only watch.

The whiteness enveloping James was quite suddenly absent, as though it had been sucked in by his body. James gave a start, and fell forward a step. Beneath him, Sirius felt something rushing through the ground, toward... _oh God..._

Remus started to glow like James had; a silvery cloud began collecting around his body. 

"Moony, what--!" No sound came from Sirius's throat. He leapt upright and tried to sprint closer to his friends.

At that instant, the whiteness suddenly streamed to the front of Remus and dove into his chest. The next second, an enormous silver wolf exploded outward, and flew through the air. It landed lightly on the ground, and charged across the brief stretch of space between it and Voldemort. Without a sound, it hurtled itself at the Dark wizard, who gave a shout of disbelief. And then--

He just simply wasn't there.

Sirius stood transfixed, frozen to the spot. A great cry of anguish erupted from Remus: he was deathly pale, and clutched at his chest as though something had been torn from him. James, with an astonished expression on his face, crumpled to the ground and was still. Remus's screams began echoing through the forest. Sirius finally ripped his feet apart and rushed over to Remus.

Remus's normally calm, gray eyes were blank and terrified. He had fallen to his knees, and was shaking madly now. Sirius tried to calm him, tried to see what was wrong, but he could get no intelligible reply. Despairingly, he looked over at James, sprawled uncannily like he had been that Halloween fourteen years before.

Sirius grabbed at the pendant hanging around his neck and ripped the chain off. He gripped the namyasto desperately, feeling it tremble as though it was experiencing aftershocks. "Bill!" he cried. "Bill! Are you out there? Hello? Help us! Help! Come quickly! Bill!"

He received no answer. Frantically he shuffled through his pockets until he found the Aperio talisman. He shook it, threatened it, pleaded with it to open, but the little wooden ring remained dead and unresponsive.

Sirius began to shake terribly now. Remus was now lying on his side, still screaming raggedly. James did not move in the slightest. Slowly, Sirius stood, and surveyed his surroundings. The wind rustled through the dead leaves in the trees. No birds or animals made any sound within the forest. No footsteps rushed toward them. They were completely and utterly alone.


	8. "...You was humming."

XV.

As he had been for much of the evening, Bill Weasley once again paced through the maze of shelves in the small, secluded laboratory. The room was quiet save for his footsteps. Bill had too much fondness for noise (having grown up at the Burrow) and too much aversion to silences (having experienced it in several nasty situations in the pyramids) to let this stand. "What time is it?" he asked, ignoring the watch ticking away on his wrist.

"You know quite vell vhat time it is," his companion answered, not unpleasantly.

Bill smirked, and examined his feet for a moment. "Let me make sure I completely understand what is happening here tonight." His companion, hidden, uttered a soft, impatient sigh. "You've got them zeroed in right now, correct?"

A grunt. "Yes. They are still at Hogvorts." 

"Right." Bill began pacing again. As he spoke, he punctuated his discourse with gestures. "Around midnight, their location will change. We don't know where they're going, but it's likely they'll be staying in England. And you'll know what to look for because you're studying the distortion pattern of the namyasto on the ley map, right?" No reply. Bill raised an eyebrow. "Right?" Still no answer. "Viktor?"

"Yes, you are correct!" Viktor Krum said loudly, a touch of irritation in his voice. 

Bill strode over to where Viktor was seated, at a small aluminum desk against a back wall. The Bulgarian was hunched over a sheet of black glass, inside which flickered and waved complicated whorls and grids of toxic lime green. Surrounding him was a collection of strange instruments, which hummed and clicked softly, echoing against the metal shelves. Privately, Bill was highly impressed with the way Viktor was operating the honing device. Tracking signals through ley lines was immensely complex, and involved years of study in Arithmancy, a subject which Bill had passed over in favor of Ancient Runes.

Bill pulled up his sleeve and examined his watch. Three minutes to midnight. _Any time now..._

When Bill had learned that the best wizard around for reading ley maps was none other than the greatly-hyped Quidditch player Viktor Krum, he had been highly skeptical. "Well if it's Seekers you're looking for, why not just get my brother Charlie?" he'd snorted. "He'd be a lot cheaper to import, as he's in Britain already for the holidays." But Dumbledore had been firm, and so Monday morning Bill had gone to collect him at the St. John's Wood Portkey Station. That first exchange had been amusing, in its way.

The 8:13 from Sophia was half-full of grumpy-faced diplomats. Bill had only recognized Viktor because he was the youngest of the lot. Krum had approached him, carrying only a shoulderbag, and asked shortly, "You are Villiam Veasley? I vos told to meet a tall redhead here."

Bill had eyed him critically: Krum was a lot less impressive than as depicted on the Bulgarian Quidditch banners. "Aye. And you'll be Krum, then?"

Viktor had scowled slightly, and nodded. Bill knew he had a perfect weapon to break the stony demeanor of his new partner. "Well!" he said, with uncharacteristic pep, "let's be off then, shall we?"

A strong love-hate relationship had developed between them over the past two days, however. Viktor became a little more informal when he learned that Bill's little brother was the same Ron who was best friends with Hermione Granger. Bill's opinion of Viktor increased dramatically when he watched him track the namyasto pendant from Lupin's cottage in Yorkshire to the exact corridor in Hogwarts where Sirius Black stood waiting to meet Harry.

The assortment of apparatuses began whirring and ticking frantically. Bill checked his watch again. Ten minutes past midnight. He walked back to Viktor's side and peered over his shoulder from behind. Viktor, who had previously been amazingly still and controlled, was now a frenzy of motion. With astonishing speed and control, he checked the map against each device, the meaning apparently clear to him.

Bill had seen Viktor pick up the other namyasto inside the space of two minutes. But twenty had soon passed, however, and he was beginning to grow worried. "What's wrong?"

Viktor's face was contorted with concentration. "I cannot find them," he answered redundantly. "There is something obstructing the signal."

A feeling of great unease erupted in the pit of Bill's stomach. "What would be strong enough to do that?"

Viktor shook his head. "I do not know. I haff checked Stonehenge, Azkaban, Loch Ness, and also Chartres -- just in case." He frowned even deeper. "I am looking through Ireland now. But--" He stopped himself, and stared at a sector of the map which seemed to have just exploded in the bright green lines.

"What is it?" Bill asked urgently. He watched as the lines distended and wobbled, as though the map had just experienced an earthquake.

"Vales," Viktor grunted, and said no more for what felt like a very long time. Bill resumed his pacing. He heard the Bulgarian exhale in frustration. "_Neh rahzbeerahm," _he muttered.

"What was that?"

Viktor looked up. "I don't understand. All this activity, over here --" he pointed to an area of the map which Bill had not the slightest idea how to read, "it has never happened before. Something has disturbed the lines. But even stranger: look -- this place, right here, it has been cleared. There is an empty spot." He squinted. "Vait a moment..." He began to grow excited. "Here! It is here!"

Bill swooped to his side. Sure enough, even he could see that a new pattern was coming through where the explosion had been. It resembled a cluster of linked circles swirling about a single point. "Now where is that in layman's terms?"

Viktor did not answer: he was manipulating the map somehow so that the image zoomed in on the new signal. He then wrote out a complicated series of numbers, letters, and runes. Finally, he pounded his right hand triumphantly on the edge of the table and stood up. "I haff it!" he declared. He pointed to the geographic map of the British Isles pinned up on the wall. "South-central Vales." He drew his wand.

"Wait, how are we going to get to them?" Bill asked anxiously, also drawing his wand. "How do we know where to Apparate to?"

Viktor shook his head. "Ve do not Apparate. It is too powerful a magical spot. There is too much disturbance in the air: it vould be harmful to all of us. Ve vill take my method."

"What--?"

But Viktor smiled slightly, and withdrew a ring from his breast pocket. "Not an Aperio talisman," he explained, reading Bill's expression correctly. "_Dupka prez prostranstvo_ -- in Bulgarian it means 'a hole in space.' It vos developed for times like this one, vhere it may be dangerous to travel normally." He held the ring loosely in his palm for an instant, as though contemplating it; he then tossed it lightly and caught it. "Come, let us go someplace vhere ve may bring them all back." They exited the laboratory, and closed it with a strong sealing spell. 

They found an large, vacant room on the ground floor of the building. An abandoned fireplace sat on the adjacent wall, to the left. Bill lit it with a swift Incendio charm, and then tossed in a small cloth pouch which leaked a glittering powder. "Dumbledore," he whispered, half-watching Viktor prepare the opening. He performed a spell to make the ring hang in midair, and then began reading what sounded to Bill like coordinates off his scrap of paper. With every set, the ring grew larger and larger, until it was tall enough for the two men to step through.

"Bill? Is that you?"

Bill turned to see Dumbledore's head floating in the fire. "Yeah. Viktor's got them tracked down. It's somewhere in Wales. It took us a while, though," he added, worried. "Something weird happened with the ley lines. And we don't know if there are Death Eaters out there yet or not."

"Snape says they are all gathered at Lucius Malfoy's house."

"Where is Snape?"

"Here, with me. We watched everything through the Gallivesper. I should hurry if I were you two." Dumbledore frowned. "We saw an explosion of light, and then the image went out. I will come to your location, though it will take me a while to get out of Hogwarts. I will make sure I have Mediwizards and Aurors with me when you return."

Bill nodded. "Take care," he said, and stood up, facing Viktor. The Bulgarian raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Are ve ready?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

Viktor tapped the side of the hoop and muttered, _"Otvaryam."_

A gash appeared through the center of the ring. Raggedly, it grew, until only a few shreds of their current location flapped limply inside the rim. Bill nodded. "Impressive."

Viktor half-smiled, and stepped through.

Bill followed him into the new landscape -- a rolling meadow, with an ancient-looking forest fencing it in. The silence was absolute and profound: only the wind keened through the treetops.

Or was that the wind? It sounded more like the cries of a person -- periodic, and full of pain. 

"We need to follow that," Bill murmured.

"No," Viktor answered quietly, "ve need to follow this." He held up another necklace -- another namyasto, with the same green amber pendant hanging from the chain. It glowed vaguely, with little flashes like sparks flickering inside. Viktor was pensive as he turned about to close the hole. "Though perhaps they vill both lead us to the same spot." He seemed to consider something for a moment, ring and necklace in hand, and then headed off to the right, into the trees.

"Hey!" Bill said as they began walking. "When were you going to tell me about that? What is it, anyway?"

"I did tell you about it," Viktor answered, not looking at his companion. "You vere not listening."

"When was this?"

"Vhen that striking lady customs official vos searching through my bags," he replied without missing a beat. "This is the twin to the namyasto I gave you earlier. It is constantly searching, constantly trying to come closer to its brother. It will draw us to the other."

They walked for at least half an hour, meeting nothing but the occasional sound of moaning on the breeze.

"I don't like this," Bill muttered.

Viktor frowned. "I don't either." He glanced down at the namyasto in his hand. The amber was beginning to glow quite strongly now. "Should be close now. Not more than twenty meters."

"What happens when it meets its other half?"

"It stops."

"Stops? What do you mean stops?"

Viktor shrugged. "It does not glow anymore. It stops pulling."

Bill reached over. "Here, give me that. I want to feel this pull. Feels like we're going nowhere."

__

"Neh!" Viktor cried, snatching his hand away. Immediately both of them froze, bracing themselves for some attack. 

For several minutes, nothing happened. "What was that about?" Bill hissed.

"Vhat?" Viktor replied, equally peeved. "If you make me let go, it flies off. Ve lose it."

Bill huffed, and then grunted reluctantly, "C'mon, let's keep going." He took a step, and pitched forward. "Ow! Damn!" He took Viktor's hand and pulled himself up. "What tripped me?" he asked, lighting his wand and peering at his feet. He wrinkled his nose. "Eww... that's awful."

A beam of light from Viktor's wand crossed his. Viktor was speechless for a moment, and then said, "Vhat is that?"

Bill crouched down and examined the obstruction. "Looks like a man... but how could it be?" He moved the light up and down the body. The man was short, and half-bald; an expression of fear was stamped on his face. His stomach seemed to have broken the fall: where Bill had landed was large dent; a little ways off, a silver hand seemed to have crumbled off the arm. Bill shuddered, and involuntarily dusted his robes. "That's disgusting."

"It is though he took a Dessication Draught," Viktor stated wonderingly. "Yet he looks surprised." He shook his head in astonishment. "He is dry! Completely dry!"

"Like styrofoam," Bill agreed grimly. Viktor looked up, puzzled. Bill shook his head. "Muggle thing. My dad loves it." He looked off to the right, toward the edge of the meadow just visible through the trees. He furrowed his brow, listening. "Quiet. D'you hear that?"

Viktor paused, then nodded. "Someone is crying."

"But it's not the person we heard earlier."

"No. It is different."

They exchanged looks. "Shall we go?"

Viktor glanced down at the namyasto. "I think so. Ve are verry close. I think it is them."

Bill glanced down at the husk of a body. "You stay here, mate," he muttered, and then walked out into the field.

Beneath the nearly full moon, the whole meadow was illuminated perfectly. Atop a small rise stood a huge black dog, who had obviously spotted the pair of them and was growling fiercely. As they neared, the dog did not attack: it seemed to be defending something. When they were close enough, Bill saw two men lying prostrate on the ground. Urgently, he turned to the dog. "Sirius?" The dog's growls grew quieter, but he still regarded the pair suspiciously, and he would not let them come closer. "Sirius, it's us. It's Bill Weasley. Come on, we've got to get you out of here."

The dog seemed to collapse, and the next instant, Sirius was sitting there, disheveled and frantic. "I thought you'd never come!" he cried. "I've been waiting with them for an hour at least! Remus stopped screaming a while back, and James hasn't moved since... since--" A strangled sob erupted from his throat. "You've got to get them somewhere! I can't tell if they're going to make it or not! You've got to--" He stopped. He was staring at Viktor. "You're Krum, aren't you," he stated, a wary edge to his voice.

Viktor nodded. He held up the pendant. "I found you," he replied flatly.

Sirius's demeanor dropped, and he sank down onto his knees. He looked up pleadingly at Bill. "You've got to help me, we've got to get them out of here. I've been so worried the Death Eaters would come and try and see what was going on--"

"Death Eaters?" repeated Bill, startled. "Sirius, what's happened to Voldemort?"

Sirius's jaw moved up and down, but no sound came out. He looked on the verge of more tears. A _snap!_ behind the two made them both turn around. Viktor had calmly conjured two floating stretchers. He met their eyes. "Vill you let me move them?" Sirius looked at his two fallen friends, and then nodded numbly. Viktor pointed his wand. _"Mobilicorporis,"_ he muttered, and James and Remus drifted up onto their stretchers.

Bill leaned forward and offered Sirius a hand. "C'mon, you've got to stand up, we've got to get you someplace safe."

"Should he see the body?" Viktor asked, keeping the two stretchers afloat.

Sirius wiped his eyes, and took a breath. "Sure," he answered. "It might be someone important."

Bill eyed Viktor. "Will you stay here? Get the door ready?" The Bulgarian nodded. Sirius was obviously hesitant to leave his friends with a stranger (and a person he'd warned his godson against being with no less); but in the end, he saw in Viktor's face that he was trustworthy, and so turned and followed Bill into the woods.

"Here," Bill said, lighting his wand and shining it across the forest floor. He heard a sharp intake of breath as Sirius surveyed the body. He looked over: Sirius was standing stiff and rigid, a murderous look in his eyes. "Do you know him?"

"Yes," Sirius replied softly, his voice strange and hard. For a long time, he seemed to grapple with something. Finally, he sighed, and turned and began walking away.

"Hey, wait!" Bill called. "What d'you want to do with him?"

"Leave it," Sirius replied flatly, not looking. He took a few more steps, and then paused. "No, wait, Bill." He turned, and seemed to consider something. "Bring it. It's evidence."

Bill obliged, making the body and the silver arm hover. "Evidence for...?"

"Lots of things," Sirius's voice answered. "Tonight, for one." A grin suddenly spread across his face. "And my innocence." Without another word, he left, heading back towards the meadow.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the halls of Hogwarts castle. The morning was dawning bright and beautiful. Harry Potter took no notice of it. He flew, running so hard and so fast he barely knew he'd ever done anything else. His rumpled robes billowed out behind him; his sneakers smacked against the cold stone floor. He didn't care. _All I need to do is find Dumbledore,_ he told himself, repeating the name like a mantra. Ever since he had woken ten minutes ago, alone save for a photograph, all he could think was that something had been taken from him, and that the aged headmaster would know how to retrieve it.

He threw himself at a flight of stairs, and barely realized he'd emerged into the room in front of the Great Hall. He was nearly blind and deaf with adrenaline, but he was aware enough to hear the swift footfalls of two men climbing the staircase behind him. He spun on his heel and yelled at the pair of retreating backs, "Professor!"

They turned. Dumbledore said nothing, but Sirius gaped. "Harry!" He rushed back down the steps and engulfed the boy in a ferocious hug. Harry felt as though the breath he'd lost running through the castle had suddenly smacked into him from behind, and he clung gasping to his godfather's shoulder.

"What happened? How is he? Oh please tell me he's alright, Sirius!" he begged.

Dumbledore appeared, a grim, set expression in his face. "I shall let you two talk things over," he said shortly. "I need to be off. There are still many things to be overseen." He turned his gaze to Harry, who could not tear himself away from the burning blue eyes. "Many strange things are happening. Yes, many strange things..." Swiftly, he laid a gnarled hand on the top of Harry's head, and then swept away out the front door.

Harry looked up into Sirius's face. "What's happened?" Sirius's face was drawn and sad. "Sirius!" he shouted desperately. "Tell me!"

The creak of a door and the miaow denoted the presence of Filch and Mrs. Norris. "Quick!" Sirius hissed, and he lead Harry up the staircase he'd be walking with Dumbledore. 

Filch's voice echoed sibilantly behind them. "Where are they, now, my sweet?"

Harry and Sirius were far beyond hearing range before he could continue. Sirius ducked and darted down corridors Harry had never even noticed before; and after a dizzying race through the castle, they arrived at the door to Dumbledore's office. "Billiwigs," Sirius rasped, and they were both through the door as soon as the gargoyle had jumped aside.

The office was empty: not even Fawkes was present. Sirius collapsed in an armchair, and tried to regain his breath. Harry remained standing, staring at Sirius. "Sirius," he repeated, a tremor now evident in his voice. "What's happened? Please tell me."

Sirius raised his head, and looked right into Harry's eyes. He took a deep, ragged breath. "I don't know if they're going to make it, Harry."

"They?" the boy repeated, horrified. "You mean -- Professor Lupin might--" He could not continue. He stood stock still inside the doorway, his numb gaze locked on Sirius's face. He took in the ashen pallor of his godfather, and the aura of exhaustion he exuded. He gulped, and spoke again, in a much quieter voice. "Tell me what happened."

Sirius licked dry lips. "Sit down." Slowly, Harry crept forward and obeyed, not breaking eye contact. "Remus and your dad are at St. Mungo's," he stated. Harry stiffened, but did not interrupt. "They've got the best experts working on them as we speak. Best doctors in Britain. We may not lose them yet." He found he could not keep on talking of this. He bowed his head briefly, and then began relating the events of that evening. Harry did not speak during the whole account. By the time Sirius was finished, the sun was fully risen, and light streamed in through the windows. It looked deeply out of place on the solemn features of the two.

"There's one thing I don't understand," Harry said finally, in an obvious attempt to keep from his thought his father and Professor Lupin. He looked Sirius full in the face, the puzzlement shining through. "Why didn't the Death Eaters come?"

* * *

Lucius drew his wife close and whispered through the side of his mouth, "Is Snape coming?"

Narcissa did not meet his eyes. "No. He sent an owl. He says Dumbledore is too suspicious. He's staying at Hogwarts."

He released her arm. "Ah." Without a second glance, he drifted away, liquor in hand. With half-hooded eyes he surveyed the party. The Death Eaters were, with the exception of Snape and those still in Azkaban, collectively wandering through the halls of his manor, their Gallivespers at the ready in several different rooms. "Like private showings," he sneered to himself. He moved toward his own Gallivesper, hovering patiently in the center of the hall. He sipped his brandy lightly, thinking, his eyes fixed on the center of the large ring chalked on the floor. Half a dozen grandfather clocks began chiming midnight. An excited shout rose up from Macnair, already quite drunk a few chambers over.

Lucius had his Gallivesper to himself. He was content to be without the company of Crabbe and Goyle, or his wife. Indeed, Narcissa had always hated the conclaves of Death Eaters in the past: now, as before, she had probably slunk away upstairs to a parlor. His only regret was that Draco couldn't be present. But no matter -- he could play the event for him when he came home for Christmas. 

He waited patiently through the hushed and anxious minutes before an image appeared on the floor. A light flashed from overhead, and Lucius blinked as his vision came into focus. Unlike at Dover, the scale of the site was reduced: Voldemort appeared in the center, about two feet high. On the periphery of the circle, nearest to his feet, Lucius could see three other people. They appeared to be too shocked to act. Voldemort lifted his head and smiled, a cruelly amused expression on his face. He spoke with the air of one particularly pleased with himself. "Good evening, my faithful Death Eaters." 

Lucius snorted softly into his glass. "Well, a fine evening to you as well, my lord," he drawled beneath his breath.

Oblivious, the Dark Lord continued. "This seems to have carried off better than I had hoped. Black and Lupin are here as well -- the convict and the werewolf. I do hope you appreciate the irony, Severus." Lucius heard laughter from the other rooms. Above it, Voldemort's voice carried mockingly. "Really, Potter, did you think your parents' washed-up friends could help you?"

__

Well, this should be a good show indeed, he thought coolly.

"No matter," Voldemort said dismissively: "perhaps I shall give Wormtail the honor of killing them." He nodded in the direction of the wizard by Lucius's left foot. "Oh yes, he is lurking out there somewhere. He has been watching you ever since you arrived." Lucius scanned the remainder of the circle. Indeed, on the far right edge, he spotted Pettigrew skulking about between Potter and the werewolf. The sound of the Cruciatus Curse being cast drew his attention back to Voldemort. Loud cheers erupted from the next room over. Lucius watched, a cold, satisfied smile upon his lips, as the werewolf tried to curse Voldemort back. The triumphant yells swelled again as an invisible hand lifted Lupin off his feet and held him dangling in midair.

Up until now, the middle figure -- Potter -- had been useless. Yet now he acted, conjuring a Patronus, which charged Voldemort down, to no effect. "Oh Harry, why waste your time?" Lucius chuckled. It certainly caught Voldemort's attention, though: Black stopped writhing, and Lupin fell heavily to the earth. The Dark Lord was staring at Potter curiously. Lucius frowned, and bent down to peer closer at the figure before him. _This was not Harry,_ he thought. He had met the boy three years before: _he can't have grown and changed so much as to have gray hair..._

Voldemort echoed his and everyone else's thoughts. "You...You are not him..."

The man's wand hand fell to his side, and to everyone's utter shock, he began bandying words with the Dark Lord. The exchange was muffled on the speaker's side, but Voldemort's furious replies were clear enough. Lucius watched as the tip of Voldemort's wand began to smolder. He winced inside. _Here it comes..._

"Cineris--!"

But he was interrupted. _"Expelliarmus!"_ his opponent cried.

And then Lucius Malfoy's jaw dropped -- he could hardly believe what he was witnessing. The other man began to glow, like a milky white haze was seeping from him. Voldemort began to flicker in and out of transparency. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Wormtail fleeing into the forest. Suddenly, a shining silver shape burst out from the right. The image warped, and then the Gallivesper fell, smashing to bits on the hardwood floor. It had only been a matter of half a minute or so. Lucius was so shocked he didn't even notice the searing pain in his left arm until Nott and Avery came crashing in, panicked.

"Lucius! What's going on? What should we do?"

Ignoring them, he shoved the sleeve of his robe up to the elbow and stared. The Dark Mark was pulsating beneath his skin, swimming with poisonous shades of black and green. Its edges became crisper, more defined -- as though it was coming into focus. Dazed, all Lucius could think of as he watched was the Taiga Sprite, its swollen branches readying themselves for an explosion.

He heard the shrieks of the others but felt nothing, as the Mark sizzled, reaching the surface of his skin. Then, as a wisp of smoke, it broke free of his flesh and floated upward. He gaped at it, astounded, as it flared bright red for an instant, and then slowly drifted away into vapor.

The hall became chaos. The Death Eaters scrambled and pushed each other furiously, all trying to escape. Lucius paid them no heed: he became aware that he had not felt so free in all the twenty years he'd borne the Mark. And above the shouts and cries, slowly he began to laugh.

XVI.

Hazel Watkins had one more patient to check on before her shift was up. She looked down at her list. It was somebody new -- the lad they'd brought in from Critical Care yesterday afternoon. She shook her head slightly to herself. Dr. Carolan had been _very_ odd about her seeing him last night. As with any other patient, she'd opened his door as quietly as she could and left it slightly ajar behind her, so she might not disturb them with a great deal of creaking and clicking. The man was lying comatose beneath his sheets, completely unaware of his surroundings. Hazel looked down at her clipboard: _Remus Lupin,_ the chart read. _Preexisting conditions: allergy to peanuts, lycanthropy (note: refrain from the use of silver surgical and other tools)._ She'd recoiled a bit at that, but then again, she'd treated worse. As she studied his face -- although lax and wan, it was mild and pleasant -- she decided he was definitely better than that old hag Gemma Hotchkiss, who was continually sprouting noisy parasitic growths on her back.

She leaned forward to take his pulse. He shivered beneath the touch of her fingers, but did not move beyond that. Hazel worked quietly and quickly, and after recording all his vitals, she patted him softly on the hand. "Keep fast, my dear, don't give up," she murmured, and with that, she left. 

Dr. Carolan was just passing by as she came out of the room. He stared at her for a moment as she was shutting the door, and then he grabbed her arm and gasped, "Nurse Watkins! Just _what business_ do you think you had in there tonight?!"

Hazel was a little taken aback. "Why, just seeing to my patients, Doctor," she answered.

The doctor's face was red and livid. _"Just seeing to your patients?_ Watkins, are you aware of what that man _is?"_

"Doctor, you _know_ the Hospital's Anti-Discrimination Statement clearly says--"

"No no, you fool, I'm not talking about that!" He pointed wildly at a calendar tacked beneath a clock on the opposite wall. _"It's the full moon tonight, and it's after sundown!_ He's liable to become a dangerous, bloodthirsty monster any minute now!" He frowned at her. "Are you hurt? Did he get you?" He began examining the arm he still clutched.

Hazel wretched it away indignantly. "No, he did not. He's lying in there quiet as you please, just like any other man who's just come out of Critical."

Dr. Carolan sighed, and drew his wand. "You should count yourself lucky you got out in time," he admonished, as he recast the Sealing Spell about the door.

With a quick tap of her own wand, she now broke the seal and cautiously swung the door open. She had been expected nothing short of carnage, from what she'd heard of other werewolves -- the bed twisted and torn, everything available object smashed and shattered, the man himself huddled in a bloody heap in the corner.

But Remus Lupin's room was just as neat and spotless as she'd left it the previous evening. She was surprised at first, but then a feeling of smug pride began to glow. _Carolan was wrong last night,_ she thought triumphantly. _I wasn't in any danger at all!_ She went about her work swiftly and smoothly, and when she left the room, she once again ran into Terence Carolan, hurrying off to some doctors' meeting or other.

"Don't know you were on about last night," she commented as she passed him by. "I didn't even have to so much as make his bed again this morning."

A hand grabbed her arm again, and with a small squeak, she spun around. Carolan's face was shocked, his jaw dangling. "What?"

"Well, sir, he looks like he hardly moved all night, much less wreaked havoc on the room as a 'dangerous, bloodthirsty monster.'"

Carolan stared at her for a minute more, and then pushed past her into the patient's room.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore clasped his hands together and solemnly surveyed Ron, Harry, and Hermione. The three Gryffindors stared back at him with a tentative eagerness, as though they would rather decide whether or not to hear his news after he'd told them.

"I am aware, Harry, that tomorrow you are leaving to stay with Sirius for Christmas," he began heavily. "I thought it fitting that you and he should be on a level understanding regarding the events of this past Halloween. I do not think he should have to explain it you; and while he and I have kept no facts from each other, I have hazarded a few guesses that I have not shared with him yet."

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances, but Harry's eyes remained fixed in front of him.

"First, I should say that the condition of your father has remained stable. You know he woke up last week -- though alas, he is still too weak to speak. The doctors at St. Mungo's are optimistic still. That, I hope, gives you some comfort."

Harry nodded. "Sirius and I are going to go see him and Professor Lupin on Tuesday," he said quietly.

"Ah. Professor Lupin." Dumbledore leaned back against his chair. "Remus Lupin remains an enigma, I must say. We are less sure about him. He is presenting quite a puzzle to the magical medical community. On the full moon, he shakes and shudders, and sometimes cries out, but he does not change.

"While I believe that some organic essence was sent out from Remus to destroy Voldemort, no one can say whether it was the human element of him or the wolf." A deep sadness shone from Dumbledore's eyes. "If indeed we have lost the person and the werewolf remains trapped in his body, some within the Ministry are moving to have him killed."

"No!" Ron cried. "They -- they can't do that! They can't just kill him, like some... like some stray that's got to be put down!" Hermione let out a choked sob. Harry winced, but remained stonily neutral.

"Why don't you tell us about Wormtail?" he asked, obviously unwilling to remain on the subject.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, the reason your godfather's name has been cleared.

"Pettigrew and Voldemort were linked through shared blood, blood which Peter willingly gave in June. The evidence seems to indicate that when Voldemort vanished, the ingredient he shared with Peter vanished too."

Ron gulped. "You mean, he just... dried up?"

"It's like all the blood inside him just disappeared," Hermione whispered.

Dumbledore leaned forward again and rested his elbows on the desk. "That does appear to be the case."

"But... Voldemort had some of my blood in him too," Harry said, perplexed. "Why didn't the same thing happen to me?"

"Aw Harry. Don't even talk about it," Ron muttered.

"Certainly an intriguing question, Harry. But as Remus explained to me earlier this summer, the element of sacrifice ran strong in that spell. Peter gave himself willingly, whereas yours was forcibly taken. Perhaps it was his willingness that destroyed him. Or perhaps you were too far away." He shrugged. "I don't suppose we'll ever fully know. But we must appreciate the fact that the threat of Voldemort is now removed forever, and that Sirius Black is a free man again."

No one said anything for a while. Harry sat staring at his hands. He was glad to be going to stay with Sirius -- indeed, how many times had he hoped for such a thing over the past few years? -- but still... It seemed so unfair that he had finally come around to accepting that he had a father, only to have him stolen away into the depths of St. Mungo's. He keenly sympathized with Neville, now that he too had gone into the hospital to visit a dormant parent.

The probable loss of Professor Lupin was hitting him just as hard. While he grieved for his father and wished with all his might that he might regain him, he had only been with him that one evening, and that night had become blurred beneath veils of intense emotion. Professor Lupin had been his friend and mentor for a whole year: he had helped him find his Patronus, had saved him from Snape's wrath over the Marauder's Map, had continued to write him even after he had left the Hogwarts staff. The thought of him being murdered like some common animal was more than he could stomach.

Slowly, he became aware of the silence in Professor Dumbledore's office. He lifted his head and looked up. Ron and Hermione were awkwardly staring off into space, but Dumbledore was watching him intently. _I need to say something,_ he thought numbly. _I need to give them an answer._

He took a breath and tried to speak. Finally, he managed, "Thank you for telling us, Professor." He paused, lost in thought for a moment, and then continued. "I... I think things will work out the way they're meant to. I hope that means I can have my dad back again, and Professor Lupin, but if not..." _But if not what?_ He felt his throat closing over. "If not... I don't know what I'll do."

* * *

__

He was drifting again. He knew he was solid, he knew who he was, but he could not shake the uncanny memory of how he'd drifted before. He passed by houses, through streets, across wilderness: nobody paid him any heed. All at once, he found himself in a living room, standing on a hardwood floor. A long, well-worn couch sat perpendicular to a matching plush armchair. The room had two doors, one on each opposite, pale yellow wall. As he watched, the door on his right opened, and in walked Lily.

She beamed at him, and threw her arms around his neck, just like she used to when they were young. She kissed him lovingly. "Hello, you," she purred. James felt himself drowning in the warmness of her touch. She smelled so good... He had forgotten what she smelled like.

"Lily," he breathed, unable to say anything else. They held each other, content to simply absorb the warmth of their bodies. Finally, she pulled away a little, and gazed up at his face with her beautiful clear eyes. Unbidden, he lead her over to the couch, and they sat down, holding hands. They embraced again, although more briefly. "I've missed you so much," he said as they came apart.

She smiled, and patted his knee. "Tell me about our friends."

He leaned against the couch cushion, feeling its softness cave in beneath him. He sighed happily, and began to speak. He told her all about Sirius, and Remus, and about Dumbledore. He talked of everything that had happened to him since he had been found by Hagrid, up until Halloween. There she interrupted him, even though she did not speak. He met her gaze again, and he knew then that she already knew.

Lily cuddled up closer to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. James felt his fingers moving toward her cascade of red hair, weaving them between the strands, playing with it. "Tell me about Harry," she whispered, her eyes closed.

James did not know exactly what he said to her. But when he finally fell silent, he felt a tremendous longing stir within him, an uneasy feeling that he had left something behind. Lily uncurled, and began running her own fingers through his mop of hair. They neither of them spoke anything for a long time. James had not felt so satisfied in ages. Not since... not since he'd let his son fall asleep leaning against him, much as Lily seemed to be doing right now...

He sat up slightly, and stroked her chin. Their eyes met. "Why don't you come with me?" he implored softly. She gave him no answer. She only smiled, sadly. James felt his heart constrict. "Why don't I _come with _you?"_ he pleaded. _

Lily shook her head. She sat up and lowered his hand away from her face. "Why don't you go with Harry," she said gently. And with that, he knew this was a good-bye. He would not see her again while he lived. He bowed his head, trying not to cry. Lily watched him, and drew his head close, and kissed it.

He looked up, and studied her face, her eyes, the part of her lips, the slope of her cheek. And he then stood, and smiled. He offered her his hand. "Would you like to dance?" he asked softly. Lily smiled, and accepted his hand. She rose to her feet, and gracefully slid her arms about his neck. He encircled her waist with his arms, and felt her head rest lightly against his chest. They began to dance.

They danced slowly, beautifully, savoring each moment. They did not speak: they only barely breathed. They danced so long that eventually they fell asleep, standing there, holding one another.

And then James became aware that he was waking up, and he could not fight it. The vision faded, although the warmness in his body remained.

"Sir? Sir, is that you?"

James opened his eyes. A nurse was standing at the foot of his bed, wide-eyed, clutching the edges of a tray of food. "What time is it?" he asked -- it was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

The nurse stammered, and finally was able to tell him. He pulled himself upright, suddenly not feeling weak anymore at all. He looked at the nurse again. "What is it?"

The nurse bit her lower lip, as if trying to decide how to word her reply. "Well, sir, it's just -- you've been asleep nearly three months, and your son and your friend were in here not two hours ago, and I was in here straightening up, and then I heard something." She looked down at her feet, a bit guiltily. "And -- well sir, it was you. You was humming."

~*~


	9. Epilogue

EPILOGUE.

__

Oh make sense of me, night.  
I can see so much from this cold height.  
The moon said "Oh darkness, my work is done." Dar Williams, "Calling the Moon" **__**

late June, 1996

Already the landscape was slowing. Harry kept his eyes out the window as the countryside turned imperceptibly to scrubland, and then he watched as the Hogwarts Express pulled through the outskirts of London, towards King's Cross. He only half-listened to Ron and Hermione conversing next to him: he was thinking about other things.

__

This is the year my life will begin. For the first time, he had a home and a father to return to from school. Never again did he have to come within twenty miles of the Dursleys. He would never be cut off from the magical world again.

Ron's outburst interrupted his thoughts momentarily. "I don't _believe_ it!" he exclaimed with obvious exasperation. "You just get done with your O.W.L.s and now you're on about N.E.W.T.s? Don't you _ever_ stop?"

Hermione gave a huffy, indignant reply. _"Well,_ it's never too early to start."

Ron rolled his eyes. _"Honestly,"_ he sighed. Harry smiled at his ironic use of Hermione's catchphrase, and then turned back to the window.

__

"King's Cross Station, Platform 9¾, ten minutes to arrival," a chipper, disembodied voice announced. 

The three new sixth-years stood and engaged in the ritual of switching their robes for regular clothes. "So, d'you think you'll be coming to the Burrow at all over the holidays, Harry?"

"I'm not sure -- we might visit, but maybe not like we used to." He grinned. "But maybe for once I can host you guys at my house."

"Have you seen it yet?" Hermione asked.

"No, not yet -- we're going tonight, as soon as my dad and Sirius get some business at the Ministry done."

"What kind of business? Or am I not supposed to ask?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. S'pose I'll find out soon though, won't I."

The Hogwarts Express shuddered to a stop, and Harry shivered in his seat with excitement. Disembarking from the train seemed to take ages this year -- probably because he wasn't dreading who he would be meeting at the other side of the barrier. He, Ron, and Hermione collected their luggage and waited in line together to leave the platform. "What do you know," Ron said suddenly. "This is the first year we haven't been harassed by Malfoy and his crew."

"Malfoy's been a lot different since Halloween," Harry mused. "I mean, he's hardly been himself for ages. Didn't rat on us once in Snape's class all year."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "I don't know whether to be relieved or worried."

"You're up," the platform guard wheezed, and nodded toward the brick wall in front of them. The trio crossed the threshold and entered Muggle London.

Harry spotted Sirius and his dad immediately. James Potter was looking quite comfortable in jeans and a Man U jersey, while Sirius seemed very proud of his "My Grandma Went to New York And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt" top. Ron and Hermione laughed, said their goodbyes, and then vanished into the crowd. 

Harry raced over to where his dad and Sirius stood. He was swept up in hugs as soon as he reached them. After a few moments, James looked at his son and said, "Ready to go?" Harry nodded. 

"On to the car park!" Sirius declared, and headed toward the exit.

"You got a car?" Harry asked, surprised. "How... how do you know how to drive?"

James shrugged. "We don't. But there's a Portkey to the Ministry on the third floor janitor's closet." He glanced down at his watch. "Think we'd better hurry if we don't want to miss the 11:52."

"What are we doing at the Ministry?" Harry asked as he trotted alongside his father. "Where are we going?"

"A hearing," James answered simply, and would say no more.

* * *

Remus Lupin had been sitting alone in the sequestered room for more than an hour now. He did not mind the wait: the quiet and the solitude was a welcome relief to the months he'd endured ever since waking.

Early in January he had stirred from his coma for the first time. By the end of the month he was sitting upright and eating solid food again, though he could not talk much. The doctors had been very wary of him until he spoke in mid-February: they had been reluctant to come near him, and to touch him, or make sudden movements. But once he began intelligible speech, they relaxed, and indeed became much friendlier. The downside, however, was that they grew curious. They had subjected him to dozens upon dozens of tests and experiments, trying to decipher the mystery of his condition. Or lack thereof -- for, much to his astonishment, Remus had not yet changed upon the full moon. The doctors and researchers had not yet given him a verdict: in a cruel twist of bureaucracy, he was to learn his fate today at the hearing, after all the information gathered had been presented to the Department.

He had been allowed no visitors during his convalescence at St. Mungo's, though if his friends had come, he would have had nothing particularly cheering to discuss with them. Things were much different for him upon waking: the world was now a muted palette of sepia tones; foods tasted blander; his sense of hearing was much duller; and he could not feel things as well as he used to. _But,_ he often told himself, _I am alive, and I am grateful for that much._

Somewhere, a door to the courtroom opened, and Remus heard "--he _has_ been damaged--" before the voice of the testifier died away. The door in front of him swung inward, and a Ministry official stood before him. The young man took a slightly anxious breath. "They're ready for you now." He paused, and examined Remus as he sat there. "Do you... would you like me to help you up?"

Remus reached for his cane, and watched it wobble as he set a little weight on it. He looked up at the officer. "That would be very kind of you," he said, still inwardly marveling that he, once a terror of the halls of Hogwarts, would need help getting to his feet at such a young age. The man hurried over, and gently put his hands beneath Remus's arms. He held him steady for a moment as he found his feet.

"Are you alright, sir? Are you ready to go?"

Remus nodded, and the young man, one hand still under his arm, reached forward and pushed open the door.

The pair of them walked through the solemn corridors silently, each one looking only straight ahead. After a short distance, they reached the door to the courtroom. The Ministry official tapped the handle with his wand, and the door swung slowly out.

The faces of the crowd were all blurred and nameless: they exchanged stares with him as he paused on the threshold, shaking. Then he set one foot forward, and then the other, and soon with the help of the young man at his arm, he reached a chair in the middle of the floor. He did not take it, preferring to stand despite his weakness. The officer hesitated for a second, and then remained with him, giving him support.

Phineas St. Clair, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, leaned heavily on his elbows from his perch behind the judge's bench. "Mr. Remus Lupin, I have considered the evidence brought forward in your case, and have reached a decision. Have you anything to say before my remarks?"

His gaze wandered through the crowd, searching out friendly faces. Everyone looked decidedly tense and unassuring. He took a deep breath, his eyes still elsewhere. "I don't really think so," he said. "I am mostly ready for an answer. I miss my friends and I miss my cottage in Yorkshire. If I learn that I am to be kept from them, then I should rather know sooner than later. And if not, I am eager to return to them, for I have not seen them for more than half a year." Somewhere in the crowd, a witch gave a choked, strangled sob. Remus frowned slightly: that did not bode well for him.

St. Clair blinked pensively at Remus; the grip of the Ministry official tightened slightly around his arm. Remus swallowed, and met St. Clair's eye. He waited, breathing calmly and evenly.

"Then, let it be known, Remus Lupin, that I have weighed the evidence as it speaks to me," the judge declared. "And I have found satisfactory proof that the condition of lycanthropy has left you. I hereby order that your name be stricken from the Werewolf Registry. Remus Lupin, you are free to go."

The courtroom suddenly burst into cheers, and all at once, the faces became distinct and nameable. There was Dumbledore, and McGonagall, and Flitwick, and even Snape! And there -- Alastor Moody, and there, Bill Weasley and Viktor Krum! And --

He did not see them among the faces. James, Sirius, and Harry had rushed out of their seats and invaded the floor; they were hugging him, speaking to him, crying with him, right there. "This hearing is over!" St. Clair bellowed over the racket. "This court is dismissed!"

"C'mon, Moony, we've got a reservation at the Delight of Delphi! Greek -- your favorite!" Sirius exclaimed.

Remus laughed haltingly, still almost too surprised to speak. "Moony? Are you sure you can still call me that?"

James grinned through his tears. "Who cares? Does that mean you'll go?"

Remus began gasping between laughs. "After what they've been feeding me at the hospital? I couldn't Apparate faster!"

Swarms of well-wishers began thronging the floor. Severus Snape appeared briefly in front of them. He stared at the four, his face closed and neutral. No one moved. Finally, he gave a nod of his head, and stuck his hand out. "I'm very happy for you," he said curtly.

Remus watched Severus for a moment, and then took his hand. "Thank you," he said, and beamed.

* * *

"If I can just run in before we go -- Harry's bags are still in a cloakroom."

The four of them paused on the sidewalk in front of an unobtrusive Ministry office. The afternoon shadows were growing long, and a pleasant breeze was blowing through the street. "D'you want any help, Dad?" Harry asked.

James feigned indignance. "I think I can handle a simple Levitation Charm, thank you very much."

As though struck by a sudden inspiration, Sirius leaped up on the steps leading into the building. "I think I'll go too. I have a small matter I wish to attend to in the Animagus Office."

Remus raised his eyebrows, surprised. "What's this? Padfoot, going legitimate?"

Sirius tried to look innocent, though a devious glint in his eye betrayed him. "Well, at least one of us ought to be on some sort of list in London. There's got to be some equilibrium here! You've just been taken off one, so I thought I might as well take your place."

James studied the mad look on his friend's face. "Sirius... what are you planning to do?"

He held up his hands. "Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Why do you always round on me like that?" He suddenly focused on James. "Hey, d'you want to come with me? We could get two for the price of one visit, you know..."

To everyone's surprise, he shook his head. "No, Padfoot. I think we've seen the last of Mr. Prongs."

Sirius frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

James looked down at his son, a strange expression on his face. Harry met his gaze curiously. "I doubt I can do the Animagus transformation again," he said slowly. "And besides, even if I can, I don't think I'd like to waste any time outside this shape." 

They were all silent for a moment, and then Sirius grinned. "Alright." He looked around. "Anybody want to come with me? There may be some havoc to be wreaked within." Without waiting for an answer, he bounded inside. James, Remus, and Harry exchanged glances. Then, at smiles from the two older men, Harry gave a yell and dashed off behind him.

James and Remus stood on a sidewalk, watching the doors swing wildly in Harry's wake. They both seemed lost in thought. Then, Remus checked his watch and said, "Well, it's been about a minute -- things should be livening up in there right now." 

James looked at him. "Then shall we hence?"

Remus nodded. "I think so."

James took Remus's arm and began helping him up the stairs. Harry came back and poked his head through the door. 

"Come quick, Dad, you won't _believe_ what he's doing!"

"Tell me if I'm wrong," Remus mused, "but I have a distinct feeling of déjà vu. The force of chaos, personified by one Sirius Black, unleashed on an unsuspecting public. When has this happened before?"

James saw ten thousand such incidents flash before his eyes, and he laughed as he held the door open. "I've got it," he grinned, and walked inside.

~ * ~

"What about helping me with my book, and making a start on the next? Have you thought of an ending?"  
"Yes, several, and all are dark and unpleasant," said Frodo.  
"Oh, that won't do!" said Bilbo. "Books ought to have good endings. How would this do: _and they all settled down and lived happily ever after?"_ J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_


End file.
